THE   INCENDIARY. 


THE    INCENDIARY 


of 


CHICAGO  AND  NEW  YORK: 

RAND,  McNALLY  &  COMPANY, 

MDCCCXCVU.      /""" 


A  PRIZE  STORY 

In  THE  CHICAGO  RECORD  series  of  "Stories  of  Mystery. 

THE    INCENDIARY 

BY 

W.  A.  LEAHY. 


(This  story — out  of  816  competing— was  awarded  the  fourth  prize  in  the 
CHICAGO  RECORD'S  "$30,000  to  Authors"  competition.) 


Copyright,  1896,  by  W.  A.  Leahy. 


THE  INCENDIARY. 


CHAPTER  I. 

FANFARE:    THE    PLAY    BEGINS. 

It  was  about  half-past  three  in  the  afternoon  when 
Bertha,  the  housemaid,  came  running  down  the  steps, 
with  a  shrill  cry  of  "Fire!"  and  fell  plump  into  the  arms 
of  the  bake-shop  girl,  who  'had  seen  the  smoke  curling 
from  Prof.  Arnold's  window  and  was  hastening  across  to 
warn  the  occupants  of  his  house.  The  deep  bark  of  a 
dog  was  heard  within  and  presently  Sire,  the  professor's 
old  St.  Bernard,  rushed  by  the  two  young  women  and 
darted  hither  and  thither,  accosting  the  bystanders  dis- 
tractedly, as  if  burdened  with  a  message  he  could  not 
communicate. 

"Ring  the  alarm!"  cried  Bertha  and  the  bake-shop  girl 
in  a  breath,  as  soon  as  they  had  recovered  from  the  shock 
of  their  collision.  Their  cry  was  taken  up  by  a  knot  of 
three  boys,  who,  as  usual,  were  the  first  on  the  spot; 
passed  along  till  it  reached  some  loungers  on  the  corner, 
whose  inertia  was  more  gradually  overcome;  and  pres- 
ently half  the  neighborhood,  as  if  by  a  spontaneous  im- 
pulse, came  thronging  into  Cazenove  street,  each  follow- 
ing his  leader,  like  a  flock  of  startled  ewes.  Bertha, 
caught  in  the  middle  of  this  ring  of  sight-seers,  stood 
paralyzed  a  moment;  then  singling  out  the  one  man  of 
action,  she  broke  through  the  crowd  and  stopped  him 
midway  in  his  advance. 

"For  the  love  of  heaven,  will  you  ring  the  alarm?" 


2212470 


6  THE    INCENDIARY. 

The  postman  turned  and  scudded  to  the  box.  There 
was  an  interval  of  suspense  that  seemed  an  age. 

"Is  there  any  one  in  the  house?''  was  the  first  question 
of  Patrolman  Chandler,  when  he  galloped  up  to  the  scene. 
He  had  been  attracted  at  once  by  the  barking  of  Sire. 

"Mr.  Robert,"  cried  Bertha,  wringing  her  hands.  "Mr. 
Robert  was  in  the  study."  The  crowd  looked  up  and 
measured  the  swift  gains  of  the  destructive  element. 

"Young  Floyd?"  said  Chandler.  Then  he  rushed  into 
the  house  and  up  the  first  flight  of  winding  stairs,  the 
dog,  as  he  did  so,  following  him  with  a  great  fusillade  of 
delighted  barks. 

"There's  some  one  inside,"  said  the  crowd,  and  the 
rumor  passed  from  mouth  to  mouth. 

"Fire!  Fire!"  called  Chandler  from  the  corridor  win- 
dow above.  "Yell,  you  fellows,  as  you  never  yelled  be- 
fore!" 

In  response  a  cry  of  "Fire!"  went  up  from  man,  woman 
and  child,  bass  and  treble  intermingling,  loud  enough  to 
have  waked  the  seven  sleepers  from  their  trance.  But 
no  one  stirred  inside.  Just  at  this  moment  the  tardy 
bells  rang  out  the  number  of  the  box,  and  almost  im- 
mediately, as  an  engine  came  rounding  a  distant  corner 
and  the  great  gray  horses  bounded  up  the  grade,  the 
uproar  began  to  subside.  On,  on,  past  the  doomed 
house,  now  enveloped  in  flames,  to  the  nearest  hydrant, 
the  driver  lashed  his  pair.  The  hydrant  cover  had  been 
thrown  off  and  the  first  block  of  coal  flung  into  the 
engine's  furnace  before  Patrolman  Chandler  reissued 
from  the  door  which  he  had  entered. 

"There  is  no  one  there,"  he  gasped,  as  if  choking  with 
the  smoke.  But  the  dog  continued  to  leap  about,  accost- 
ing the  bystanders  appealingly,  until  his  barks  and  paw- 
ing became  a  nuisance  to  several  and  they  spurned  him 
pettishly  away. 

Now  engines  from  many  directions  came  clattering  by 
and  the  air  was  full  of  clangor.  Lines  of  hose  were  un- 
raveled, ladders  hoisted  against  the  walls,  and  finally, 
amid  hoarse  shouts  that  pierced  the  deep  sighing  of  the 
flames  within,  a  rubber-clad,  helmeted  fellow,  with  a 


THE   INCENDIARY.  7 

nozzle  strapped  to  his  body,  slowly  led  a  line  up  to  the 
second-story  window,  where  the  fire  had  apparently 
started.  There  was  another  interval  of  suspense,  orders 
to  and  fro,  and  then  a  helpless  pause.  Something  refused 
to  work. 

But  the  fire  met  no  such  impediment  Suddenly 
an  explosion  of  uncertain  origin  shook  the  air,  and  the 
onlookers  retreated  in  terror,  as  if  the  ground  were  yawn- 
ing beneath  them.  Of  a  sudden  one,  two,  three  slack, 
snaky  hose  lines  rounded  out,  and  a  burst  of  foam,  bat- 
tering in  window-panes  and  sashes,  inaugurated  the  great 
combat  of  elements — one  angry,  vindictive,  as  if  ravening 
to  sunder  the  bonds  of  control  cast  about  it  by  the  pigmy, 
its  master,  the  other  docile  and  benignant,  but  in  the  end 
the  more  puissant  of  the  two. 

"Exactly  nine  minutes  from  the  start  before  a  drop  of 
water  fell  on  that  fire/'  said  the  bake-shop  girl,  who  was 
noted  for  her  accurate  observation  of  time.  By  the  "start" 
she  meant  the  moment  when  Bertha  and  she  collided  on 
the  doorsteps,  but  the  fire  must  have  gained  a  strong 
headway  before  that.  For  every  timber  in  the  house 
was  flaming  now.  The  heat  scorched  the  firemen's  cheeks 
and  made  frightened  children  in  the  windows  opposite 
turn  away.  All  the  neighbors  were  packing  up  their  val- 
uables, preparing  for  the  worst.  Singed  and  blinded, 
the  firemen  had  been  driven  back  down  their  ladders 
and  compelled  to  fight  from  the  street.  At  3:40  the  dis- 
trict chief  ordered  a  second  alarm  rung  in,  and,  as  this 
was  followed  by  another  explosion,  a  third  alarm  imme- 
diately after.  Amid  a  great  clanging  of  bells,  engine  after 
engine,  with  drivers  standing  at  the  reins  and  firemen 
riding  backward,  drove  up  and  sought  out  positions  of 
vantage. 

With  the  arrival  of  Chief  Federhen  their  plan  of  attack 
seemed  to  assume  a  definite  shape  at  once.  The  ding, 
ding,  ding,  of  his  light  carriage,  riding  over  distended  and 
bedraggled  hose,  told  the  impatience  of  the  man  on  the 
seat.  A  tall,  gaunt  figure,  wrapped  in  a  cloak,  which  he 
threw  off  as  the  excitement  grew  on  him,  he  first  turned 
his  attention  to  the  police  and  the  crowd. 


8  THE   INCENDIARY. 

"We  want  room  to  do  this  work  in,"  he  cried  in  a  loud 
voice,  and  the  bluecoats  began  vigorously  routing  the  on- 
lookers back  until  the  fire  was  to  them  like  something 
seen  through  an  inverted  opera  glass,  and  the  sagging 
ropes  nearly  broke  under  the  black  weight  of  humanity 
which  they  fended  off. 

Federhen's  practiced  eye  saw  the  doom  of  the  dwelling- 
house.  So  he  called  off  his  engines  and  threw  up  lad- 
ders against  the  great  mercantile  buildings  to  leeward  and 
in  the  rear.  It  was  from  one  of  these,  presumably  the 
fireworks-room  of  Schnitzler  Bros.,  that  the  second  ex- 
plosion, scattered  and  prolonged  like  an  enfilading  volley 
of  musketry,  had  come,  and  already  a  thatch  of  flame 
had  run  around  under  the  projecting  roof  of  the  struc- 
ture. Against  this  the  fire  tower  was  slowly  brought  into 
position  and  sloped  over,  its  tip  just  topping  the  eaves,  but 
the  axes  of  the  squad  sent  up  failed  to  make  any  impres- 
sion on  the  solid  sheathing  of  the  roof.  When  the  tower 
ladder  itself  began  to  take  fire,  and  a  stream  had  to  be 
played  on  it  constantly,  the  order  was  given,  none  too 
early,  "Come  down!"  acid  the  firemen's  first  ambition,  to 
get  above  the  enemy,  had  to  be  abandoned  for  less  effica- 
cious measures.  Fountain  jets,  rising  from  the  street,  and 
level  streams  from  the  roofs  of  the  dwelling-houses  oppo- 
site, did  their  ineffectual  best  to  quench  the  red  thirst  of 
the  triumphing  element. 

"This  is  glorious !" 

"Tristram!" 

The  girl  pulled  a  dolman  over  her  shoulders,  fear  sim- 
ulating cold,  before  the  savage  dance  of  the  flames.  Their 
carriage  had  passed  through  Broad  street,  in  the  rear  of 
Cazenove,  a  few  minutes  before,  and  when  the  alarm 
sounded  Tristram  had  ordered  the  coachman  to  turn  and 
drive  them  back. 

"Glorious,  Rosalie !"  he  repeated,  looking  up  at  the  red 
streamers  and  the  swirling  smoke. 

"It  was  just  here  we  met  your  friend,  Harry  Arnold," 
murmured  Rosalie.  "Did  you  notice  he  had  only  one 
glove  on?" 

"Glorious!"  echoed  her  enraptured  brother,  as  a  sec- 


THE   INCENDIARY.  9 

tion  of  the  wall  fell  in,  disclosing  an  oven  view  like  the 
interior  of  a  Bessemer  blast  furnace. 

"See  the  horses  pawing.  The  sparks  will  fall  on  them. 
Let  us  drive  away." 

"My  palette!"  was  Tristram's  answer.  "Brush!  Easel! 
Canvas!  Oh,  the  lost  chance  of  a  lifetime!" 

"Doesn't  it  make  you  shudder?" 

"Certainly,  my  dear.  That  is  the  very  deliciousness 
of  it." 

"But  the  danger!" 

"Ah,  you  know  I'm  a  perfect  Bluebeard  in  the  taste  for 
horrors.  I  really  envy  Parrhasius  his  enjoyment  in  flay- 
ing the  old  slave — or  did  he  flog  him?  But  it's  of  no 
consequence  which.  He  tortured  him  somehow,  you 
remember,  and  chained  him  to  a  stake  in  his  studio,  so 
that  he  might  paint  Prometheus'  writhings  to  the  life." 

But  just  here  something  happened  which  cut  short  his 
tirade  of  irony. 

It  was  on  the  Broad  street  side  of  the  Harmon  building 
(such  the  great  six-story  structure  was  called),  just  where 
the  Marches'  coachman  had  halted  their  span,  that  the 
most  pitiful  incident  of  this  memorable  fire  took  place. 
By  4  o'clock  everybody  conceded  that  the  Harmon  build- 
ing was  lost.  Occupied  principally  by  dry-goods  firms, 
whose  light  wares,  spread  over  the  counters,  were  like  so 
much  hay  to  the  flames,  it  needed  scarcely  more  than  the 
touch  of  a  match  to  convert  it  into  smoke.  At  the  sound 
of  the  second  explosion  hundreds  of  salesgirls  and  male 
employes  had  rushed  to  the  exits,  barely  outstripping  the 
fire.  It  was  supposed  that  all  had  been  warned  and 
escaped,  and  only  a  signal  shriek  from  the  top  story  in 
the  rear  notified  the  beholders  that  human  lives  were  in 
peril.  Looking  up,  they  saw  at  the  windows  a  dozen 
girls  and  half  as  many  youths  huddling  together  with  the 
blanched  faces  of  deadly  fear.  Thick  smoke  was  already 
curling  up  and  enveloping  them  and  reflections  of  the 
flames,  like  an  aurora  rising  in  the  north,  were  visible 
behind.  The  cries  they  made  could  not  be  understood, 
but  their  gestures  were  dumbly  eloquent. 

"Jump!''  came  the  cry  from  a  hundred  throats  below. 


10  THE   INCENDIARY. 

A  teamster  pulled  the  rubber  covers  off  the  Protective 
company's  wagon.  Firemen  and  policemen  improvised 
nets  of  canvas,  which  they  tore  from  the  awnings  near  by 
and  spread  under  the  shrinking  group.  Two  or  three  of 
the  girls,  who  leaped  for  a  telegraph  pole  on  the  outer 
edge  of  the  sidewalk,  almost  miraculously  succeeded  in 
scrambling  down.  Others  climbed  out  on  the  ledge  and 
made  as  if  to  jump,  but  drew  back  from  the  awful  plunge. 
The  fire  was  upon  them  now,  and  one  could  weep  to 
see  the  men,  brave  fellows,  coaxing  their  timid  com- 
panions to  take  the  leap.  One  woman  of  coarser  build 
ran  along  the  dizzy  ledge,  which  scarcely  yielded  footing 
for  a  sparrow,  and  sprang  into  the  branches  of  a  tree  on 
the  corner,  her  dress  saving  her  at  the  cost  of  fearful 
laceration.  Then  a  form  came  crashing  down  into  the 
outspread  nets,  another  and  another,  without  pause,  with- 
out certainty  of  aim.  Two  struck  the  sidewalk  and  were 
carried  off  shapeless  and  silent.  One  young  girl's  fall  was 
broken  by  a  policeman's  brawny  arms — no  other  than 
Patrolman  Chandler.  She  picked  herself  up  laughing, 
only  to  faint  away,  while  her  rescuer  was  borne  off  groan- 
ing. It  was  all  over  soon — a  tragedy  of  five  minutes — 
but  those  who  witnessed  it  felt  as  if  their  hearts  had  been 
standing  still  for  a  century. 

"Let  us  drive  away,"  said  Rosalie,  a  sickness  seizing 
her. 

"Yes,"  answered  Tristram;  "the  people  are  beginning 
to  stare  at  you."  His  sensitive  lips  were  pale  and  he  shut 
his  eyes  lest  their  film  of  pity  should  be  seen.  It  was  true, 
some  of  the  bystanders  had  pointed  out  his  companion  to 
one  another  as  Rosalie  March.  The  face  of  this  beautiful 
girl  had  become  familiar  since  Manager  Mapletree  the 
season  before  had  persuaded  her  to  come  out  from  the 
privacy  of  her  home  and  assume  two  or  three  roles  in  his 
revival  of  Shakespeare's  comedies.  Perhaps  they  won- 
dered who  the  gentleman  beside  her  might  be.  Brother 
and  sister  bore  each  other  little  specific  resemblance. 

"What's  that  carriage  halting  here  for?  Do  you  think 
this  is  a  procession?  Pass  on!"  cried  Federhen  to  the 
coachman,  who  whipped  up  his  horses  in  a  hurry.  The 


THE   INCENDIARY.  11 

police  had  not  yet  got  around  to  this  side  of  the  block, 
but  the  fire  chief  seemed  at  all  times  to  be  where  the  crisis 
was.  At  a  word  from  him  ambulances  arose  from  the 
very  ground  and  the  dead  and  injured  were  carried  off 
to  the  hospital.  His  straggly  gray  beard  confronted 
the  fire-fighters  everywhere,  goading  on  the  laggards, 
cheering  the  valiant.  Indomitable,  tireless,  he  sent  them 
again  and  again  at  the  ruined  shell,  drowning  the  neigh- 
boring dwelling-houses  meanwhile  in  a  flood  of  water. 
The  calm  air  favored  him.  People  said  "him,"  for 
somehow  the  forces  of  salvation  seemed  to  be  embodied 
and  centralized  in  one  implacable  form.  But  the  wind 
created  by  the  fire  was  carrying  sparks  and  brands  to  a 
distance  of  half  a  mile.  The  awed  spectators  winced  and 
scattered  at  these  hot  showers.  It  was  still  a  speculation 
where  the  holocaust  would  end. 

If  the  Southern  depot  caught,  then  the  whole  Bay  quar- 
ter, a  warren  of  tinder-box  tenements,  swarming  densely 
with  poor  tenants,  was  in  peril.  To  save  the  depot  was 
to  win  the  day.  But  special  editions  of  the  newspapers, 
appearing  at  5  o'clock,  were  only  able  to  announce,  under 
half-column  scare-heads,  that  the  result  was  still  in  doubt; 
and  when  twilight  came  it  was  not  the  sunset  glow  (for  a 
storm  was  gathering  in  the  overcast  sky)  which  burnished 
the  factory  windows  across  the  harbor  till  they  shone  like 
plates  of  gold. 


CHAPTER  II. 

MIDNIGHT— ALL'S    WELL, 

"Accident  is  out  of  the  question,  John  Davidson."  The 
hands  of  the  clock  were  moving  toward  midnight  in 
Klein's  restaurant,  but  mugs  were  still  clinking,  dishes 
rattling  and  waiters  hurriedly  cleansing  soiled  tables  with 
their  towels.  The  freedom  of  the  saloon  had  been  ex- 
tended to  the  victorious  fire-fighters,  who,  after  supping 


12  THE   INCENDIARY. 

with  Duke  Humphrey,  were  not  at  all  reluctant  to  lunch 
with  Commoner  Klein. 

"A  health  to  Carl  Klein,"  shouted  one,  tossing  a  tum- 
blerful high  in  air. 

"Your  health!"  the  place  echoed,  as  the  whole  group 
stood  up  and  shouted  a  rousing  toast.  They  were  tough, 
middle-sized  fellows,  all  of  them,  of  the  true  fireman's 
build,  which  is  just  a  shade  taller  and  broader  than  a 
sailor's.  The  smiling  old  German  hovered  near  and 
bowed  and  rubbed  'his  hands  in  appreciation.  To  judge 
from  the  girth  under  his  apron,  he  was  himself  a  wor- 
shiper of  the  worthy  trinity,  breakfast,  dinner  and  supper, 
which  he  served.  The  two  men  chattering  in  low  tone? 
at  a  side  table  had  not  stood  up  or  noticed  the  interrup- 
tion. 

"I  can't  believe  it,  McCausland,"  answered  John  Da- 
vidson, the  fire  marshal.  "There  is  no  motive.  It's  devil- 
ish. It's  beneath  flesh  and  blood.  Four  lives  already  and 
heaven  knows  how  many  more.  It  isn't  in  human  kind 
to  do  that  without  a  reason." 

"Mankind  is  my  kind,  too,"  answered  McCausland, 
pleasantly,  but  in  such  a  manner  as  to  convey  the  idea 
that  he  was  a  diver  of  some  experience  into  the  deep-sea 
depths  of  human  turpitude.  "But  suppose  we  look  at  the 
status  quo.  Everybody — Wotherspoon,  Chandler  and 
all  the  others — agreed  that  the  fire  must  have  been  going 
some  time  when  the  servant-girl  ran  out  of  the  house.  If 
her  story  is  to  be  believed,  and  she  never  turned  a  hair 
under  cross-questioning,  you'll  allow?" 

"The  girl's  fair  spoken,  I  admit  that,"  answered  the 
marshal. 

"Then  the  blaze  started  in  a  room  two  flights  above  the 
only  fire  which  was  going  in  the  house,  and  that  one  a 
low  coal  fire  in  the  cook  stove.  The  cook  stove  and  the 
study-hearth  get  their  drafts  from  different  chimneys.  No 
possible  connection  there?" 

"No,"  answered  the  marshal,  for  McCausland's  last 
inflection  had  been  slightly  interrogative. 

"The  cast-away  cigar  doesn't  fit,"  continued  his  com- 
panion, telling  off  the  thumb  on  his  chubby  left  hand. 


THE    INCENDIARY.  13 

"There  was  no  tobacco  allowed  in  the  house.  Mungovan, 
their  last  coachman,  was  discharged  for  smoking  on  the 
sly.  The  professor  was  eccentric,  you  know,  and  this  was 
the  stanchest  of  his  dogmas." 

"Well?" 

"No  boys  with  firecrackers  playing  around.  It's  the 
lull  between  the  i/th  of  June  and  the  Fourth." 

"No." 

"No  phosphorescent  rat-bane  on  the  premises,''  went 
on  McCausland,  telling  off  finger  after  finger.  "You 
heard  what  the  domestic  said?'' 

"Yes;  she  was  positive  about  that." 

"Because  they  were  not  troubled  with  mice.  Another 
accidental  cause  removed.  But  if  rodents  were  swarming 
like  flies  in  a  meat  shop,  I  don't  see  what  substance  more 
combustible  than  the  pasted  bindings  of  old  books  they 
could  have  found  in  that  library  to  nibble.  The  lucifers 
were  all  kept  in  a  safe  downstairs,  excepting  a  few  for 
the  sleeping-rooms." 

"That's  true,  but " 

"Number  six,"  interrupted  McCausland.  "What  shall 
it  be?  Cotton  waste  taking  fire  spontaneously?  Benzine? 
Naphtha  varnish?  Celluloid?  None  of  them  about, 
according  to  Bertha.  I'm  at  my  rope's  end.  Where  are 
you?" 

"Do  you  suppose  they  have  been  as  careful  since  the 
professor  died?''  asked  the  marshal. 

"That  was  only  four  days  ago  and  the  study  has  been 
locked  ever  since.  Only  opened  fifteen  minutes  before 
the  fire." 

"Aren't  you  done  guzzling  yet?"  broke  in  a  strident 
tone  of  command  from  the  open  door.  Chief  Federhen's 
face  was  haggard  and  sooty,  and  his  voice,  naturally 
harsh,  had  a  ragged  edge  from  shouting  that  grated  on 
the  ear  like  the  squawking  of  a  peacock.  But  the  firemen 
leaped  immediately  to  attention.  They  did  not  resent 
their  gray  chief's  reprimand,  for  they  knew  that  he  himself 
had  gone  without  any  supper  at  all  and  that  he  stood 
ready  at  that  moment  to  lead  wherever  he  ordered  them  to 
follow.  In  personal  courage,  as  well  as  generalship,  he 


14  THE   INCENDIARY. 

was  believed  to  be  the  foremost  chief  in  the  country,  and, 
though  not  exactly  popular  personally,  he  was  profession- 
ally adored.  Only  the  insurance  companies  had  ever  ven- 
tured to  criticise  his  bold  methods,  and  they,  as  everybody 
knows,  are  simple-minded  idealists,  who  expect  an  immu- 
nity from  fire  such  as  even  the  arctic  regions  can  hardily 
enjoy. 

"Take  your  machine  alongside  of  fourteen,  Tyrrell,  and 
keep  two  lines  on  the  Harmon  building  all  night." 

"All  right,  chief/'  answered  Capt.  Tyrrell,  and  his  men 
followed  him  out  through  the  curious  crowd  that  stood 
peeking  in  on  their  collation. 

"Impossible!''  exclaimed  the  marshal,  raising  his  voice, 
now  that  they  were  nearly  alone. 

"Impossible,  that's  what  I  say,"  smiled  McCausland; 
"we're  not  living  in  fairyland.  This  is  earth,  where  effects 
•have  causes." 

"But  who  would  have  the  heart  to  set  it?" 

McCausland  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"If  that's  your  impossible/'  he  replied,  "in  the  case  of 
my  own  son,  I'd  rather  his  defense  were  a  concrete 
alibi." 

Inspector  M'cCausland  was  a  detective  of  the  good  old 
school,  renowned  in  many  states  and  not  unknown  to 
Scotland  Yard  and  the  keen  Parisians.  Nature  had  fa- 
vored him  with  an  exterior  of  deceptive  smoothness.  No 
vulpine  contraction  of  the  muzzle,  such  as  would  have 
suggested  the  sleuth  and  invited  suspicion.  Round,  florid, 
pleasant-faced,  a  little  sloping  in  the  shoulders,  decidedly 
suave  of  voice  and  genial  in  manner,  he  did  not  look  the 
figure  to  be  feared.  Yet  some,  not  easily  frightened, 
would  depart  in  haste  from  the  neighborhood  of  Richard 
McCausland. 

"The  only  living  occupants  of  the  room,"  he  continued, 
unfolding  his  chain  of  reasoning  to  the  still  skeptical  mar- 
shal, "at  the  time  when  Bertha  went  in,  were  the  St.  Ber- 
nard, Sire,  whose  barking  had  attracted  her  attention 
upstairs,  and  the  canary  bird,  whose  life  she  tried  to 
save." 


THE    INCENDIARY.  15 

"Probably  the  delicate  creature  was  dead  when  she 
opened  the  door,"  said  the  marshal. 

"At  any  rate,  it  is  impossible  that  an  old  dog,  sleeping 
on  the  mat,  or  a  golden-feathered  songster,  whistling  in 
his  cage,  could  be  the  author  of  this  fire " 

"And  loss  of  life." 

"If  the  housemaid  is  telling  the  truth  there  was  some 
other  cause ;  and  if  she  is  lying,"  he  concluded,  arising  to 
go,  "it  must  be  to  cover  up  carelessness  or  guilt,  either 
on  her  own  part  or  on  the  part  of  some  one  in  whom 
she  takes  an  interest." 

Intimate  associates  found  McCausland  a  rollicking 
companion;  but,  in  the  pursuit  of  crime,  he  was  a  prac- 
tical believer  in  the  doctrine  of  total  depravity,  or,  rather, 
to  be  just,  he  knew  the  potential  evil  which  is  harbored  in 
every  human  heart  until  some  life-or-death  temptation 
effects,  perhaps,  the  wreck  of  honor  and  humanity. 

"Well,  this  is  another  feather  in  Federhen's  cap,"  said 
the  marshal,  cheerily,  at  the  door. 

"He  must  share  it  with  Jupiter  Pluvius,"  answered  Mc- 
Causland. 

As  dark  came  on  there  had  been  a  heavy  fall  of  rain, 
which  dampened  the  roofs  and  stifled  many  a  darting 
tongue  and  incipient  blaze  in  the  vicinity,  though  it  ap- 
peared to  have  no  more  effect  on  the  body  of  the  fire  than 
so  much  fuel  thrown  into  its  maw.  But  it  had  enabled 
Federhen  to  concentrate  his  streams,  which  before  this 
had  necessarily  been  scattered  about,  protecting  expose/1 
points  of  danger.  In  fact,  one  or  two  serious  subsidiary 
fires  had  only  been  checked  with  the  utmost  difficulty.  If 
either  of  them  had  extended,  and  the  Bay  quarter  once 
fairly  caught,  500  poor  families  might  have  been  ruined 
and  two  hotels  and  one  depot  would  have  been  included 
in  the  loss. 

At  6:45  Federhen  had  issued  an  order  to  blow  up  the 
Columbia  shoe  store  building.  Against  the  frantic  pro- 
test of  the  owners  his  oracular  answer  was  "Necessity!" 
and  a  high-handed  jostle  of  the  remonstrants  to  one  side. 
The  magazines  were  promptly  laid  and  a  wide  space 
cleared.  Precision  and  dispatch  followed,  like  two  leashed 


16  THE   INCENDIARY. 

hounds,  in  the  footsteps  of  the  chief.  At  7  o'clock,  with 
a  mammoth  concussion,  the  middle  of  the  building 
seemed  lifted  bodily  into  midair.  Its  walls  caved  in,  and 
at  once  twenty  lines  of  hose  were  wetting  down  the  debris, 
while  pickax  men  began  widening  still  further  the  breach 
on  the  side  toward  the  van  of  the  approaching  fire.  This 
corner  building  laid  low,  the  flames  were  sixty  yards  away 
from  the  depot,  and  all  their  surging  and  leaping  failed 
to  clear  the  gap.  Confined  at  last,  assaulted  from  every 
side,  drenched,  smothered  and  confounded,  they  spent 
their  rage  in  a  blind,  internal  fuming. 

Those  who  returned  to  visit  the  fire  in  the  evening, 
attracted,  perhaps,  by  the  noise  of  the  last  concussion, 
witnessed  a  miraculous  transformation.  The  black  night 
made  a  spacious  and  harmonious  background  for  the 
flames,  now  a  spectacle  of  sinister  beauty,  charging 
heavenward  solidly  to  great  heights  only  to  flutter  back 
and  writhe  at  their  manifest  impotence.  The  streets 
below,  flushed  with  rain,  were  glistening  in  the  lamplight 
and  the  awestruck  wonder  of  the  crowd  had  subsided  to 
a  mere  vulgar  curiosity  about  details.  Already  the  event 
was  old  to  many,  its  solemn  lesson  and  the  revelation  of 
underlying  forces  making  only  a  shallow  impress  on  shal- 
low minds.  Gangs  of  rowdies  swung  to  and  fro,  elbowing 
respectable  sight-seers  into  the  puddles  and  rendering 
night  hideous  with  their  ill-timed  pranks  and  depreda- 
tions, like  prowlers  stripping  the  slain  after  battle. 

The  police  were  occupied  guarding  the  ropes  and  eject- 
ing without  ceremony  all  intruders  whose  credentials 
were  imperfect.  Lines  of  hose  lay  about  in  inextricable 
confusion,  half-buried  in  an  amalgam  of  lake  water,  litter 
and  mud,  while  at  every  corner  the  engines  still  sent  up 
showers  of  sparks,  the  rhythm  of  their  dull  pumping  re- 
sounding through  the  city  like  the  labored  beatings  of 
some  giant  heart.  Comments  on  the  losses,  the  injuries, 
the  probable  hour  when  the  flames  would  be  conquered, 
beguiled  the  ranks  of  spectators  who  lined  the  ropes, 
those  behind  crushing  forward  as  the  front  file  yielded 
place,  and  drinking  in  all  they  could  (not  much  at  that 
distance),  until  the  exhaustion  of  their  interest  in  turn 


THE   INCENDIARY.  17 

became  evident  by  their  repeated  yawns.  It  was  Satur- 
day night,  the  late  night  in  America,  but  by  n  o'clock 
there  were  gaps  in  the  solid  phalanxes  and  the  homeward- 
bound  stream  far  outnumbered  that  flowing  toward  the 
still  vigorous  but  dull-red  and  smoke-colored  sheet  of 
fire. 

Eleven  was  just  ringing  when  a  young  man  rushed  up 
to  the  lines  stretched  across  Cazenove  street  at  its  junc- 
tion with  Meridian,  and  half  by  force,  half  by  entreaty, 
breasted  his  way  to  the  rope. 

"I  wish  to  pass,  officer;  my  property  is  among  those 
burned,"  he  said. 

"Your  property?''  echoed  the  policeman,  a  phlegmatic- 
looking  fellow.  The  youth  was  not  over  21  and  Higgins 
had  heard  this  story  at  least  a  dozen  times  within  an 
hour.  His  orders  were  to  throw  the  burden  of  proof  in 
every  case  upon  the  petitioner. 

"Yes;  that  is  to  say,  not  mine,  but  my  uncle's.  I  am 
a  nephew  of  Prof.  Arnold  and  lived  with  him." 

The  slight  correction  which  the  young  man  made  in 
his  explanation  evidently  prejudiced  his  cause  in  the  po- 
liceman's eyes — as  if  confusion  were  a  mark  peculiar  to 
the  glib  kinsmen  of  Ananias.  The  youth  had  slipped 
under  the  rope  and  the  crowd  craned  near,  expecting  an 
altercation. 

"Get  back  there !"  came  the  sharp  rebuke,  and  a  heavy 
hand  was  laid  on  the  young  man's  breast,  gathering  up 
the  lapels  of  his  coat  and  half  his  vest  bosom. 

"But  my  uncle's  house  is  burned,  I  tell  you,"  he  pro- 
tested. 

"Outside!" 

"I  am  also  a  member  of  the  press." 

"Outside  the  ropes!" 

"You're  a  bully,''  cried  the  young  citizen,  pushing  stur- 
dily on  his  own  side  and  fairly  holding  his  own.  "Ser- 
geant!" 

The  sergeant  in  charge  had  come  over  when  he  saw 
trouble  brewing  and  stepped  closer  at  this  personal  ap- 
peal. 

"I  think  you  must  know  me.  My  name  is  Floyd.  I  am  a 


18  THE  INCENDIARY. 

nephew  of  Prof.  Arnold,  in  whose  house  the  fire  is  said  to 
have  started.  Am  I  refused  permission  to  pass  the 
ropes?" 

"I'm  afraid  there's  little  to  be  seen  of  your  uncle's 
house,  Mr.  Floyd,"  quietly  answered  the  sergeant,  who 
knew  him.  "This  gentleman  is  all  right,  Higgins." 

Higgins  nonchalantly  moved  a  few  steps  off,  doubtless 
reflecting  that  he  had  only  erred  on  the  side  of  vigilance. 

"But  the  servants — do  you  know  where  they  may  be 
found?" 

"Try  opposite.  They're  still  at  home.  The  wind  was 
the  other  way,  you  see." 

The  young  man  sped  up  to  the  site  of  his  former  home. 
One  look  at  the  black  ruin  sickened  though  it  fascinated 
him.  In  that  old-fashioned  house  on  the  hill  he  had  lived 
since  infancy.  Indeed,  he  had  known  no  other  home, 
no  other  parent  save  the  eccentric  old  professor,  his 
uncle.  On  Thursday,  the  body  of  Prof.  Arnold  had  been 
carried  away  and  laid  in  another  resting-place.  Tonight 
the  old  home  smoldered  before  him,  a  heap  of  blackening 
embers,  wearing  no  vestige  of  resemblance  to  its  beloved 
familiar  contours.  But  little  time  was  given  him  for 
meditation  now. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Robert!" 

He  felt  his  hands  seized  in  a  warm,  strong  grasp,  which 
did  not  quickly  loosen. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Robert !''  repeated  Bertha,  drawing  him  into 
the  doorway  of  the  bake-shop  and  beginning  to  cry.  "I 
thought  you  were  burned  in  the  fire.  Where  have  you 
been  all  the  time?" 

"Only  at  Miss  Barlow's.    How  did  it  happen?" 

"It  was  soon  after  you  left.  The  library  took  fire.  I 
heard  Sire  barking  and  ran  down  to  find  out  what  was 
the  matter,  when  what  should  I  see  but  the  room  full  of 
smoke." 

"Ellen  is  safe,  I  hope?" 

"Ellen  went  out.  We  haven't  seen  her  yet.  But  if  it 
hadn't  been  for  Sire " 

They  had  gone  inside  the  shop  and  the  great  St.  Ber- 
nard jumped  up  and  fondled  his  young  master  joyfully, 


THE    INCENDIARY.  19 

but  again  with  that  strange  undertone  in  his  barking,  as 
of  one  who  had  a  tale  to  tell,  if  only  stupid  men  folk 
could  understand  it. 

"What  ails  you,  Sire?  Poor  fellow!  Old  master  gone; 
house  burned  down;  getting  old  yourself.  Yes,  it's  too 
bad.  Good  dog." 

Sire  whined  at  the  sympathy  in  Robert  Floyd's  voice. 

"Nothing  was  saved?"  asked  the  youth. 

"Not  a  stitch.  But  I  don't  mind  if  I  was  only  sure 
Ellen " 

"Are  you  really  anxious  about  Ellen?  I  thought  she 
went  out?" 

"Oh,  yes.  It  was  her  day  out.  But  when  she  came 
back  to  supper  she  ought  to  have  looked  for  me." 

"Perhaps  she  did  hunt  for  you  and  missed  you,  or  went 
to  her  sister's  in  the  confusion.  You  haven't  found  a 
lodging  yet  yourself  for  the  night?" 

"I  suppose  I'll  have  to  go  to  my  aunt's." 

"Mrs.  Christenson's.  That's  the  place  for  you;  and 
take  good  care  of  Sire  until  I  call  for  him." 

"Go  with  Bertha,  Sire,"  he  commanded,  but  the  dog 
had  to  be  dragged  away,  the  tall  Swedish  maiden  laying 
her  hand  on  his  collar. 

"Well,  your  house,  as  the  little  girl  said  in  the  story, 
presents  a  remarkable  disappearance." 

Robert  turned  toward  the  stranger  who  was  so  face- 
tious out  of  season.  Inspector  McCausland  had  just 
parted  company  with  the  fire  marshal  and  was  sauntering 
carelessly  about. 

"How  did  it  happen?  Do  they  know  yet?"  asked  Rob- 
ert, anxiously. 

"I  don't,"  answered  McCausland.  "Possibly  so" — 
he  filliped  off  the  lighted  end  of  his  cigar,  but  it  fell  into 
a  black  moat  alongside  of  the  curbstone  and  went  out 
with  a  gentle  hiss. 

"But  none  of  us  smoked." 

"Perhaps  it  was  of  incendiary  origin,"  said  the  detect- 
ive.   "There  have  been  some  strange  fires  lately." 
"It  is  a  mystery,''  answered  Robert  Floyd. 


20  THE    INCENDIARY. 


CHAPTER  III. 

SEQUELAE. 

"You  don't  care  for  The  Headless  Horseman'?"  said 
Robert  to  little  Elsie  Barlow,  who  was  sitting  on  his  knee 
in  Emily's  parlor.  "Which  of  the  stories  do  you  like 
best  of  all?" 

Elsie  shut  up  her  book  of  fairy  tales,  trying  to  think. 

"You  ask  mamma  which  she  likes  best,  Bessie  or  me?'' 

"Oh,  Elsie,  that's  dodging,"  laughed  Robert. 

"No,  'tisn't  dodging,"  protested  Elsie.  "  'Cause  mamma 
don't  like  either  of  us  best;  and  I  like  'The  House  of 
Clocks'  and  The  Ball  of  Gold'  just  the  same  as  each 
other." 

"  "The  Ball  of  Gold'— what  a  charming  title!  Tell  me 
that.  It  can't  help  being  pretty." 

"Well,  you  see  there  was  a  great,  tall  giant,"  began 
Elsie,  hunting  diligently  for  his  picture  in  the  wonder- 
book,  "and  this  giant  had  a  ball  of  gold  that  rested  on  a 
saucer  in  his  castle,  just  like  an  egg  in  its  cup.  It  was 
round-shaped  like  a  crystal  and  weighed,  oh,  ever  so 
many  tons.  See,  there  he  is.'' 

"Ugh!"  Robert  shuddered  realistically.  "What  a 
monster !" 

"And  oh,  so  cruel !  Every  knight  that  rode  by  he  would 
challenge  him  to  battle,  and  the  giant  would  cut  off  his 
head  and  hang  them  around  his  belt,  and  the  bodies 
he  would  throw  to  three  great,  savage  dogs.  That  was 
all  they  had  to  eat." 

"What  cannibals!" 

"Here  comes  Emily,"  said  Mrs.  Barlow,  who  had  been 
rocking  in  her  chair.  The  young  lady  wore  a  water  lily 
at  her  bosom  and  was  reading  from  the  Sunday  Beacon. 

"Six  lives  lost,  Robert,"  she  cried,  "and  the  Beacon 
has  started  a  subscription  for  their  families." 


THE   INCENDIARY.  21 

"But  I  haven't  finished  my  story,"  pouted  forgotten 
little  Elsie. 

"Put  it  away,  dear,"  said  her  mother,  riding  roughshod 
over  the  child's  wishes,  as  the  best  of  mothers  do.  Per- 
haps these  crosses  are  educational. 

The  following  list  printed  in  heavy  capitals  was  the 
first  paragraph  Emily  read : 

KILLED. 

MARY  LACY,  salesgirl. 
FLORENCE  F.  LACY,  bookkeeper. 
ALEXANDER  WHITLOVE,  elevator  boy  (colored). 
OSCAR  SCHUBERT,  ladder  man. 
An  unknown  girl. 

"At  midnight,"  she  continued,  reading  aloud,  "Rosan- 
na  Moxom,  a  lace-worker,  was  reported  dying,  and  the 
injuries  of  nearly  a  dozen  others  are  serious  enough  to 
excite  alarm." 

"Did  you  say  the  Beacon  has  started  a  relief  fund  for 
their  families?"  asked  Robert. 

"Yes,  and  headed  it  with  $1,000." 

Robert  inwardly  resolved  to  make  the  total  $1,025. 

"Most  of  those  dead  or  likely  to  die,"  continued  Emily, 
while  Robert  held  Elsie  and  Mrs.  Barlow  rocked  in  her 
easy-chair,  "belonged  to  the  hapless  group  that  had  been 
penned  in  the  top  story  of  the  Harmon  building.  They 
were  employes  of  the  firm  of  Carter  &  Hallowell,  lace 
dealers.  Shut  off  by  a  solid  wall  from  the  Cazenove  street 
side  of  the  building,  they  had  not  heard  the  shouts  of  fire 
until  too  late.  A  broad  sheet  of  flame  barred  their  exit 
to  the  stairs,  which  were  midway  along  the  corridor. 
Over  fifteen  of  the  girls,  however,  had  come  down  safely 
in  the  elevator,  and  Alexander,  the  colored  elevator  boy, 
had  promised  to  make  a  return  trip  for  the  others.  He 
was  true  to  his  word  and  was  seen  remounting  as  high  as 
the  fifth  story.  But  here  the  heated  iron  cables  refused  to 
work,  and  the  poor  fellow,  stuck  fast  between  two  floors, 
unable  to  escape  from  his  wooden  box,  must  have  suf- 
fered a  martyr's  death/' 


22  THE   INCENDIARY. 

"Poor  boy !"  murmured  Mrs.  Barlow.  Perhaps  she  was 
thinking  of  her  own  i /-year-old  son,  whose  death  within 
a  twelvemonth  had  deprived  her  home  of  its  only  mascu- 
line presence. 

"Heroism !"  cried  Robert.  "It  is  all  around  us  in  home- 
spun, and  yet  we  run  back  to  search  for  it  under  togas 
or  coats  of  mail." 

"Oscar  Schubert's  death  was  equally  mysterious,"  con- 
tinued Emily,  turning  the  Beacon  inside  out.  "He  was  a 
hook-and-ladder  man,  attached  to  company  3,  a  German, 
and  in  every  way  a  valuable  servant  The  poor  fellow 
left  a  wife  and  two  flaxen-haired  children,  whose  lamenta- 
tions at  the  hospital  when  the  body  proved  to  be  that  of 
their  father  brought  tears  to  the  eyes  even  of  the  stoical 
attendants,  accustomed  as  they  are  to  the  surroundings 
of  death." 

Here  Emily  was  interrupted  by  a  glee  of  laughter  from 
a  romping  group  downstairs.  It  was  the  children  coming 
home  from  Sunday  school.  A  tiptoe  peep  at  the  visitor 
magically  hushed  their  merriment,  but  Robert  persuaded 
the  youngest  to  intrust  herself  to  his  unoccupied  knee, 
where  he  -held  her  as  a  counterpoise  to  Elsie,  inwardly 
resolving  to  increase  his  subscription  to  $50  for  the  sake 
of  Oscar  Schubert's  two  little  ones. 

"But  the  tenderest  sympathy,"  read  Emily,  "is  reserved 
for  the  Lacy  girls,  sole  supports  of  a  large  family,  the 
cares  of  which,  however,  did  not  seem  to  weigh  upon 
their  amiable  dispositions.  They  had  embraced  each 
other  on  the  ledge  before  jumping,  and  leaped  together, 
arm  in  arm,  missing  the  extended  net  by  taking  too 
strong  a  horizontal  impulse,  which  threw  them  almost  to 
the  curbstone.  In  the  case  of  Mary,  the  elder  sister,  death 
was  instantaneous,  but  the  features  were  not  marred  in 
the  least.  The  face  of  Florence,  the  younger,  had  been 
crushed  in  beyond  recognition,  yet  she  lingered  on  and 
it  was  nearly  two  hours  before  her  heart  finally  ceased  to 
beat.  A  feeble  mother,  an  irresponsible  brother  and  sev- 
eral small  sisters  are  left  to  mourn  these  truly  estimable 
young  women." 

During  this  paragraph  Robert's  promissory  subscrip- 


THE   INCENDIARY.  23 

tion  had  silently  risen  to  $100.  If  it  continued  mounting 
he  would  soon  have  little  ready  cash  to  meet  his  current 
expenses  with.  Little  Elsie  and  Bessie,  the  midget  of  all, 
listened  wonderingly  on  his  knee;  and  it  is  not  surprising 
if  during  the  paragraph  that  followed,  all  about  money 
losses  and  insurance  policies  and  proprietors'  histories, 
his  thoughts,  startled  by  a  casual  mention  of  Prof.  Ar- 
nold's name  in  the  reading,  roamed  away  to  his  own 
teens,  when  he  used  to  sit  on  his  Uncle  Benjamin's  knee, 
as  the  little  girls  were  sitting  on  his. 

He  called  up  a  picture  of  the  Yorkshire  youth  who  had 
been  brought  over  to  the  new  world,  with  a  younger 
brother  and  sister,  by  parents  richer  in  virtue  than  in 
coin  of  the  world.  Both  the  sons  had  won  wealth  and 
Benjamin  fame.  Beginning  as  a  gardener,  he  soon 
wrung  recognition  for  his  botanical  learning  from  a  world 
which  he  affronted  from  beginning  to  end  by  an  inde- 
pendence passing  far  over  the  line  into  the  region  of 
eccentricity.  He  belonged  to  the  rare  class  of  self-made 
scholars,  and  a  popular  herb-balsam  of  his  compounding 
had  laid  the  corner-stone  of  a  fortune  which  sixty  years  of 
prudent  addition  had  reared  even  higher  than  that  of  his 
brother  Henry,  the  banker.  An  Englishman  by  birth,  he 
had  refused  to  change  his  allegiance.  "Salute  the  flag 
you're  born  under,"  was  the  motto  he  preached ;  and,  con- 
sistently inconsistent  in  this  regard,  he  applauded  the 
equally  strong  American  loyalty  of  his  sister's  son,  Rob- 
ert Floyd. 

How  upright,  how  unimpeachable,  he  had  been, 
thought  Robert,  in  his  old-school  fixity  of  principle! 
Overbearing  to  those  he  distrusted,  irritable  among 
shams,  he  was  charity  itself  to  real  merit  and  to  the  poor. 
His  pet  aversions  made  a  long  and  amusing  list — lawyers, 
electric  lights,  theaters,  agnostics,  cats ;  but  each  was  only 
the  reverse  side  of  a  medal  whose  obverse  was  passionate 
love.  If,  for  instance,  he  was  known  to  have  stoned  stray 
kittens  from  his  garden,  he  made  up  for  his  cruelty  by 
treating  dogs  almost  as  human  beings. 

"You  and  I  have  the  canine  temperament,"  he  would 
say  to  Robert,  a  touch  of  self-sufficiency  mingling  with 


24  THE   INCENDIARY. 

his  character,  as  is  not  unusual  in  really  benevolent  men. 
"You  and  I  have  the  canine  temperament.  Thank  the 
heaven  that  blessed  us,  and  beware  of  cats.  Two-foot 
and  four-foot,  it's  all  the  same.  Feline!  Catty!"  The 
last  word  was  pronounced  with  all  the  explosive  scorn 
which  features  as  incapable  of  sneering  as  a  hound's 
could  manage  to  express.  Robert  saw  the  great  smooth 
face  rise  before  him  now,  tinged  by  time  and  weather  to 
a  pure  cherry-wood  red,  and  crowned  with  luxuriant  sil- 
ver hair  fringing  out  from  under  the  skull-cap.  Some- 
times, indeed,  in  the  drawn  corners  of  the  mouth  and  the 
limpid  brown  eyes,  he  had  read  a  true  affinity  to  the  noble 
St.  Bernard  who  used  to  lie  stretched  upon  the  mat  be- 
tween them. 

"Three  o'clock,  latest.  Here's  something  special." 
Emily's  rise  of  tone  recalled  the  young  man  out  of  his 
dream.  Elsie  was  once  more  deep  in  her  wonder-book 
and  Bessie  had  slipped  down  from  his  knee  and  run  to 
the  window. 

"At  2:49  Rosanna  Moxom  passed  away  at  the  hospital, 
making  the  sixth  victim  of  the  fire.  An  employe  of  John 
Kalinovitch,  the  furrier,  who  occupied  rooms  on  the  same 
floor  with  Carter  &  Hallowell,  has  identified  the  unknown 
girl  as  Katie  Galuby,  a  young  Polish  maiden " 

"Katie  Galuby?"  cried  Mrs.  Barlow.  "Can  that  be  the 
girl  we  know?" 

"What  about  Katie  Galuby,  mamma?"  asked  Elsie, 
looking  up. 

"She's  dead,"  said  mamma,  and  Elsie's  lip  quivered  at 
the  awful  word. 

"A  young  Polish  maid'en,  who  stitched  pelts  in  their 
musky  establishment.  She  had  probably  run  the  wrong 
way,"  Emily  read,  "as  children  will — for  Katie  was  no 
more  than  a  child,  though  a  workwoman  these  two  years 
— and  so,  finding  herself  with  the  Carter  &  Hallowell 
group,  had  followed  them  in  their  random  flight  and 
shared  their  unhappy  fate.  This  was  the  girl  Patrolman 
Chandler  caught  in  his  arms,  who  laughed  and  then 
fainted  away.  The  smile  was  still  on  her  lips  in  death, 


THE    INCENDIARY.  26 

and  her  face  looked  sweet  in  its  expression  of  happy  inno- 
cence, though  old,  prematurely  old  and  wan." 

"Perhaps  the  poor  girl  is  more  blessed  out  of  this 
world,"  said  Mrs.  Barlow,  whose  eyes  showed  that  she 
herself  had  not  had  a  fair-weather  voyage  through  life. 
The  Galubys  lived  in  the  next  block,  where  there  was  a 
colony  of  poor  Poles,  and  she  had  often  spoken  to  Katie. 

"Listen,"  cried  Emily,  reading  another  paragraph: 
"Up  to  2:30  o'clock  no  news  has  been  received  of  Ellen 
Greeley,  the  cook  in  Prof.  Arnold's  house.  Inquiries 
made  at  her  sister's  failed  to  throw  any  light  on  the  ques- 
tion of  her  whereabouts.  Dark  rumors  afloat,  however, 
at  a  late  hour,  emanating  from  an  authoritative  source 
and  rapidly  taking  shape,  seemed  to  put  her  disappear- 
ance in  close  connection  with  other  mysterious  facts,  to 
the  detriment  of  a  well-known  young  man's  reputation." 

"I  wonder  who  that  can  be?"  asked  Mrs.  Barlow,  but 
before  any  one  could  answer  a  loud  murmur  in  the  street 
interrupted  the  quiet  party. 

"Look,  mamma,  see  all  the  people  coming!"  cried  Bes- 
sie, pulling  Mrs.  Barlow  nearer  to  the  window.  Oaths 
and  imprecations  in  some  unknown  tongue  thrilled  the 
little  group  of  listeners. 

"It's  a  riot  among  the  Poles,"  said  Mrs.  Barlow.  Emily 
and  Robert  at  once  joined  the  group  in  the  bay  window. 

"There  he  is!"  shouted  some  one  in  the  crowd,  point- 
ing, and  immediately  the  covered  heads  became  a  sea  of 
upturned  faces — for  the  parlor  was  one  flight  up — foreign 
faces,  inflamed  with  passion.  A  hatless  father,  brandish- 
ing a  hatchet,  led  them  on.  But  whither? 

"They  are  breaking  in  our  door!''  shrieked  Mrs.  Bar- 
low. "And  Mr.  Galuby  at  their  head." 

Almost  instantly  a  volley  of  stones  crashed  against  the 
side  of  the  house  and  the  windows  were  riddled.  Emily 
and  her  mother  drew  back,  with  the  whimpering  little 
ones,  but  Robert  stood  his  ground,  watching  old  Galuby 
hacking  at  the  door  like  a  madman. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  he  called  down,  raising  the 
sash. 

There  was  a  furious  ring  at  the  bell,  followed  by  a  snap, 


26  THE   INCENDIARY. 

as  if  the  cord  were  pulled  out.  A  small  pebble  sailed 
through  the  open  window  and  struck  Robert  in  the 
cheek.  At  sight  of  the  blood,  though  it  was  no  more 
than  a  strawberry  splash,  Emily  seized  his  arm. 

"I  must  go  down  and  stop  this,  Emily." 

"No,  Robert ;  they  are  savages  when  they  get  excited." 

"What  do  they  want?" 

"Heaven  knows!  We  have  never  quarreled  with 
them!" 

By  this  time  the  mob  was  augmented  by  swarms  of 
gamins  and  roughs  of  the  neighborhood,  but  a  change 
of  tone  in  the  uproar  indicated  that  there  was  some  oppo- 
sition to  their  mischief-making. 

"It  is  the  police  who  have  come,"  said  Mrs.  Barlow, 
but  Emily  clung  to  Robert,  so  that  he  could  neither  ap- 
proach the  window  nor  go  downstairs  to  the  door  without 
violence  to  the  fragile  girl  he  loved.  For  many  minutes 
she  held  him  there,  till  the  murmurs  below  were  mingled 
with  shrieks  of  pain,  and  their  dispersion  and  diminution 
told  of  the  scattering  of  the  crowd.  Mrs.  Barlow  cau- 
tiously peeped  out. 

"They  are  arresting  Mr.  Galuby.  He  is  covered  with 
blood,"  she  cried.  Just  then  came  a  loud  knocking  at  the 
front  door.  Robert  tore  himself  free  and  ran  down  to 
open  it.  A  police  sergeant  stepped  inside. 

"What  is  it  all  about?"  asked  Floyd. 

"We'll  give  you  safe  escort  to  the  cars.    Hurry  up  P 

"Why  should  I  be  escorted?" 

"Galuby's  girl  was  killed  in  the  fire  and  the  Poles 
learned  you  were  here." 

"What  of  that?" 

"Why,  it's  all  over  town  that  you  set  it." 


CHAPTER  IV. 
THE    INDEX    FINGER   POINTS. 

John  Davidson,  the  marshal,  was  officially  supposed  to 
be  endowed  with  insight  into  the  origin  of  fires.  In  fact, 
he  drew  a  comfortable  salary  for  pursuing  no  other  occu- 


THE   INCENDIARY.  27 

pation  than  this.  A  swift  horse  and  a  buggy  enabled  him 
to  be  among  the  first  to  arrive  and  a  uniform  of  dark 
blue  cloth,  such  as  old  sailors  cling  to,  but  with  brass  but- 
tons for  insignia  in  place  of  the  little  woven  anchor  that 
serves  to  remind  the  old  salt  of  his  element,  entitled  him 
to  salutes  from  fire  captains  as  well  as  from  the  rank  and 
file.  His  written  reports  were  read  by  insurance  under- 
writers, and  his  wise  shake  of  the  head  went  a  great  way 
with  those  who  knew  little  about  fires  and  less  about 
John  Davidson. 

For  "old  John  Davidson,"  as  he  was  generally  known, 
had  one  failing  which  sadly  impaired  his  official  useful- 
ness. He  was  an  innate  and  inveterate  optimist.  The 
mild-blue  eyes  which  beamed  from  behind  his  spectacles 
— old  eyes,  too,  that  no  longer  saw  things  as  vividly  as 
they  used  to — were  meant  to  train  fatherly  glances  on 
winsome  children  or  dart  gleams  of  approval  at  heroic 
hosemen  whose  sacrifices  were  rewarded  by  medal  or 
purse.  Indeed,  he  was  very  popular  in  both  these  func- 
tions, for  old  John  Davidson  had  himself  served  his  coun- 
try and  was  comrade  John  of  Sherman  post,  No.  5.  But 
these  kindly  orbs  were  not  those  of  the  hawk,  the  lynx 
or  the  ferret,  like  Inspector  McCausland's,  of  whose 
small  gray  pair,  eyelets  rather  than  eyes,  rumor  said  that 
the  off  one  contained  a  microscopic  lens  and  its  nigh  fel- 
low never  went  to  sleep. 

"John  Davidson  will  never  set  the  world  on  fire  him- 
self," Inspector  McCausland  had  said  when  the  veteran's 
nomination  was  first  reported.  Yet  "old  John"  went  his 
way  cheerfully  poohpoohing  suspicion  and  really  diffus- 
ing a  globe  of  good  feeling  by  his  presence  such  as  no  fox 
in  the  police  ranks  could  pretend  to  radiate. 

However,  the  wisdom  of  the  serpent  is  called  for  at 
times,  as  well  as  the  meekness  of  the  dove.  When  Mar- 
shal Davidson,  against  all  proof  and  persuasion,  gave  out 
his  intention  to  report  the  Arnold  fire  as  accidental,  orig- 
inating in  some  unknown  manner,  or  by  spontaneous 
combustion,  owing  to  the  extreme  heat  of  the  day  (the 
thermometer  having  registered  97),  it  was  felt  by  his  best 
friends  that  he  allowed  his  optimism  to  blind  him  too  far. 


28  THE   INCENDIARY. 

He  had  made  the  same  report  in  the  Low  street  fire,  the 
authors  of  which,  an  organized  gang  of  blackmailers, 
trapped  on  another  charge  by  McCausland,  had  just  con- 
fessed their  crime.  Such  laxity  could  only  embolden  the 
firebugs  and  encourage  an  epidemic  of  burnings.  Some- 
thing must  be  done,  the  police  department  thought,  and 
when  they  selected  Inspector  McCausland  to  work  up 
the  case  there  was  a  general  faith  that  something  would 
be  done. 

By  Sunday  noon  the  inspector  had  gathered  an  array 
of  data,  sufficient  to  give  a  start  to  his  active  faculty  of 
divination.  Critics  said  that  his  one  failing  was  a  slight 
impatience  in  feeling  his  way  to  a  conclusion,  or,  as 
his  brother  detectives  expressed  it,  a  tendency  to  "get 
away  before  the  pistol  shot." 

"Going  to  hang  some  one,  Dick?''  asked  Smith,  whose 
specialty  was  counterfeiters. 

"Well,  we  are  sowing  the  hemp,"  answered  McCaus- 
land, always  ready  with  a  jovial  answer. 

The  first  person  upon  whom  suspicion  rested  was  the 
Swedish  housemaid,  Bertha  Lund.  But  it  did  not  linger 
long,  or  with  more  than  a  moth-like  pressure,  on  that 
robust  and  straightforward  individual.  Her  story,  thrice 
repeated  in  response  to  questions  by  the  marshal,  Chief 
Federhen,  Inspector  McCausland  and  the  district  attor- 
ney, had  not  varied  a  hair,  although  each  time  new  details 
were  added,  as  the  questions  of  the  different  examiners 
opened  new  aspects  of  the  affair. 

"Prime  proof  of  her  honesty,"  said  McCausland.  "The 
rote  story  shrinks  and  varies,  but  never  expands." 

So  the  only  fruit  yielded  by  the  ordeal  which  Bertha 
underwent  was  a  thorough  description  of  the  house  and 
household,  pieced  together  from  her  replies,  and  McCaus- 
land had  soon  left  her  far  behind  in  his  search  for  a 
tenable  theory. 

The  cook,  Ellen  Greeley,  had  not  yet  made  her  appear- 
ance. Bertha  professed  to  have  seen  her  dressing  herself 
in  her  chamber  and  gave  a  clear  description  of  her  cloth- 
ing, for  the  benefit  of  McCausland's  note-book — green 
plaid  skirt,  brown  waist,  straw  hat  with  red,  purple  and 


THE  INCENDIARY.  29 

yellow  pompons.  Ellen  was  dressing  "uncommonly 
rich''  of  late,  they  said.  Bertha  had  talked  with  her  up- 
stairs and  had  heard  the  back  door  slam  about  the  time 
when  Ellen  might  be  supposed  to  be  departing.  It  had 
been  the  cook's  holiday  afternoon,  and  she  was  going  to 
run  over  to  her  sister's,  as  she  generally  did,  and  return 
for  supper,  leaving  Bertha  to  keep  house. 

But  her  sister  had  not  seen  her  and  she  had  not  re- 
turned. A  slow,  heavy  girl,  rather  apt  to  take  the  color 
of  her  mood  from  those  around  her,  she  seemed  a  crea- 
ture who  might  be  influenced  to  wrongdoing,  but  hardly 
the  one  to  instigate  it.  So  far  as  could  be  learned,  the 
plain  truth  was  romantic  enough  for  Ellen  Greeley,  and 
she  was  not  accustomed  to  embellish  it  with  flowers  of 
her  own  imagination.  Nevertheless,  after  exhausting 
this  subject,  McCausland  checked  her  name  with  the 
mental  note  "an  accomplice,  if  anything,"  and  the 
woman's  prolonged  absence,  together  with  those  "un- 
commonly rich"  dresses  she  wore  of  late,  the  more  he 
dwelt  on  them,  prompted  'him  the  more  to  erase  the  modi- 
fying clause  and  let  his  mental  comment  stand  "an  ac- 
complice." 

But  of  whom?  Ellen's  sister  and  Bertha  had  both 
mentioned  one  Dennis  Mungovan,  the  cook's  sweetheart, 
who,  until  three  weeks  ago,  had  been  coachman  at  the 
Arnold's.  Some  repartee,  or  insolence,  when  repri- 
manded for  smoking  (he  was  described  as  a  tonguey  lout) 
had  provoked  his  discharge  and  he  had  been  heard  to 
threaten  vengeance  behind  the  professor's  back,  though 
at  the  time  his  words  were  muttered  they  were  ignored 
as  a  braggart's  empty  vaporing.  Twice  he  had  called  to 
see  Ellen  at  the  house,  but  he  had  not  shown  his  face 
since  the  week  before  the  professor  died;  and  even  at  his 
favorite  haunt,  a  certain  Charles  street  stable,  all  trace 
of  him  had  been  lost.  As  he  was  a  resident  of  this  coun- 
try for  less  than  a  year  he  may  have  crossed  the  water 
again  to  his  home,  but  if  this  were  so  Bertha  felt  sure 
Ellen  would  have  manifested  her  lonesomeness.  "She 
had  a  great  heart  to  the  man,"  said  the  Swedish  house- 
maid. 


30  THE   INCENDIARY. 

"Well,  what  have  you  collected  against  him?"  said  the 
district  attorney,  to  whom  McCausland  had  just  been 
exhibiting  these  results  of  his  investigation.  They  were 
alone,  save  for  a  bloodhound,  in  the  inspector's  office  at 
police  headquarters. 

"Opportunity,  motive  and  circumstances.  I  don't  rule 
out  the  other  two  as  accessories,  you  understand."  The 
"other  two''  were  Mungovan  and  Ellen  Greeley,  who 
with  Robert  had  been  arranged  in  a  triangle  by  the  de- 
tective. 

"That  remains  to  be  fitted  into  the  developments,  I 
presume?" 

"First,  as  to  circumstances.  The  young  man  turns 
up  about  1 1  o'clock  at  a  fire  which  started  at  3 130,  which 
destroyed  his  own  home,  and  which  was  advertised  all 
over  the  country  within  a  radius  of  thirty  miles  before 
sunset" 

"In  itself  not  a  very  damaging  circumstance.  It  might 
be  explained.  You  have  questioned  him  on  his  move- 
ments?" 

"In  two  interviews,"  replied  the  inspector,  puffing  his 
cigar  leisurely  and  watching  the  smoke  curl  as  though 
it  were  the  most  fascinating  study  in  the  world  just  then. 

"Account  not  satisfactory?" 

"He  has  none  to  give."    (Puff.) 

"What  does  he  mean  by  that?" 

"Memory  a  blank  between  3:30  and  7:30."    (Puff.) 

"Up  to  some  mischief,  then." 

"A  curiously  opportune  lapse,"  said  the  inspector,  his 
eye  twinkling  humorously.  "So  much  for  circumstances 
after  the  fact.  And  now  for  opportunity." 

"Of  course  the  evidence  for  opportunity  will  depend 
upon  the  inmates  of  the  house.  You  are  convinced  of 
Bertha's  candor?" 

"On  my  reputation  as  an  adept  in  mendacity.  You 
have  not  found  me  overcredulous,  as  a  rule?" 

"Quite  the  contrary." 

"Bertha  was  upstairs,  Floyd  in  the  study,  Ellen,  the 
cook,  had  just  gone  out.  After  awhile  the  barking  of  the 
St  Bernard  in  the  study  aroused  the  girl.  Something 


THE   INCENDIARY.  81 

was  wrong.  She  ran  down,  opened  the  study  door  and 
fell  back  before  a  live  crater  of  smoke  and  flame.  Acci- 
dent, we  agree,  is  out  of  the  question.  The  front  door 
was  locked.  There  was  no  approach  to  the  study  (up 
one  flight,  remember)  from  the  street,  unless  you  raised 
a  ladder  to  the  window,  and  half  the  neighborhood  would 
have  seen  this.  At  least  I'm  sure  the  bake-shop  girl, 
Senda  Wesner,  would  have  seen  it.  The  previous  actions 
of  Floyd  were  those  of  a  criminal  meditating  crime;  his 
subsequent  course  until  7:30  he  refuses  to  explain." 

"But  the  motive,  McCausland?"  said  the  district  attor- 
ney gravely.  McCausland  contracted  his  beady  eyelets 
till  they  shone  like  two  pin  punctures  in  a  lighted  jack- 
o'-lantern.  But  a  knock  at  the  door  delayed  his  answer. 
The  bloodhound  promptly  arose,  grasped  the  knob  in 
his  forepaws,  and  turning  it  skillfully,  admitted  a  mulatto 
attendant  in  fatigue  uniform,  the  bloodhound's  master 
patting  him  approvingly  for  the  performance. 

"Officer  Costa  to  see  the  inspector,''  said  the  attendant. 

"Send  him  in,"  answered  McCausland.  "One  of  my 
fetch-and-carry  dogs — willing  enough,  but  no  hawk." 

"I've  looked  the  matter  up,"  said  Officer  Costa,  salut- 
ing, and  glancing  from  McCausland  to  the  district  at- 
torney. 

"With  what  result?" 

"Dennis  Mungovan  and  Ellen  Greeley  were  privately 
married  on  June  18,  before  Justice  of  the  Peace  Gustavus 
Schwab,  at  1 26  Harlow  street,"  said  Costa,  as  if  proud  of 
his  morsel  of  information  and  its  precision  of  detail. 

"Is  this  our  Mungovan?"  asked  the  district  attorney, 
evincing  keen  interest. 

"What  was  his  description,  Costa?"  said  McCausland. 

"Native  of  Ireland,  aged  29;  a  coachman  by  occupation. 
The  bride  a  cook,  born  in  New  Brunswick." 

"Very  well  done.  Will  you  look  over  the  steerage  list 
of  the  European  steamers  for  a  fortnight  back  and  ahead? 
We  want  that  couple,  if  possible." 

"I  will,"  answered  Costa,  in  a  manner  which  showed 
that  the  compliment  was  not  wasted.  Once  more  Mc- 
Causland rose  and  looked  out  before  shutting  the  door. 


32  THE   INCENDIARY. 

Evidently  this  was  another  of  his  mannerisms,  and  per- 
haps not  the  least  useful,  since  one  never  knows  what 
interlopers  may  be  harking  about. 

"We  have  connected  numbers  two  and  three  of  the 
triangle/'  he  resumed  at  soon  as  he  was  fairly  seated,  "the 
interests  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mungovan  being  presumably 
identical." 

"I  cannot;  seriously  I  cannot  credit  the  charge  against 
Floyd,"  said  the  district  attorney,  "in  face  of  the  tender 
relations  known  to  have  subsisted  between  the  young 
man  and  his  uncle.7' 

"Tender" — McCausland's  fat  face  creased  all  over  into 
dimples  of  merriment.  "Do  young  men  elope  with  their 
grandmothers  ?" 

"Not  often,"  answered  the  district  attorney. 

"Neither  do  they  dote  madly  on  their  crotchety  uncles 
in  the  slippers  and  dressing-gowns  of  78." 

"Even  at  78  I  should  expect  consideration  from  a 
nephew  whom  I  had  taken  in  as  an  orphan  and  raised  to 
wealth  and  position." 

"Wealth  and  position!     Perhaps  that's  the  rub.'' 

"Just  what  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  that  all  was  not  smooth  in  the  Arnold  house- 
hold; that  nephew  and  uncle  were  cut  too  near  together 
from  the  same  block  of  granite  to  match;  that  they 
wrangled  constantly  and  that  one  of  their  wrangles  led  to 
this  very  crisis  of  the  will." 

"A  will?''  echoed  the  district  attorney. 

"A  will''  (puff),  smiled  McCausland,  relapsing  into  si- 
lence. 

"Prof.  Arnold  left  a  will?"  repeated  the  district  attorney, 
slowly,  but  McCausland  only  nodded  mysteriously  and 
puffed. 

"And — and  disinherited  the  nephew?" 

"Exactly — cut  'him  down  to  $20,000." 

"Where  is  this  will?' 

"This  will  was  burned.  It  was  the  cause  of  the  burn- 
ing." McCausland  had  lowered  his  voice,  if  anything, 
but  the  district  attorney  stood  up  in  horror. 

"More  wealth  changed  hands  by  the  destruction  of  that 


THE    INCENDIARY.  33 

document,''  continued  the  inspector,  "than  was  converted 
into  smoke  and  ashes  by  the  fire." 

"You  mean  that  young  Floyd  planned  to  burn  up  the 
will  which  left  him  a  pauper,  so  that  he  might  obtain  his 
interest  as  heir-at-law?" 

"That's  the  motive  you  were  asking  for  when  Costa  in- 
terrupted us.  It  was  clumsily  done,  wasn't  it?  But  not 
so  clumsily,  when  you  look  at  it  further.  The  professor 
kept  his  valuables  in  an  iron  lock-box  which  he  called  a 
safe.  To  blow  it  open  was  dangerous,  unless" — Mc- 
Causland  paused  to  drive  his  meaning  home — "unless  the 
sound  of  the  explosion  could  be  smothered  in  the  gen- 
eral confusion  of  a  fire." 

"You  attribute  the  explosions  to " 

"Placed  the  charge  himself  in  a  wooden  box  under  the 
safe.  Told  Bertha  a  plausible  story  to  provide  against 
discovery." 

"Six  human  lives  to  pay  for  a  few  paltry  dollars." 

"Five  million  dollars!  The  professor  must  have  left 
nearly  ten  and  Floyd  would  have  shared  them  equally 
with  the  other  nephew.  Hardly  a  paltry  figure,  $5,000,- 
ooo!  I've  seen  murder  committed  for  a  lo-cent  piece.'' 

"But  that  was  manslaughter  in  the  heat  of  a  quarrel." 

"To  be  sure ;  and  by  expert  Sicilian  carvers,  with  mag- 
nifying-glass  eyes  and  tempers  forme'd  between  Etna  and 
Vesuvius.  But  $5,000,000  is  a  fortune,  Bigelow." 

The  district  attorney  paced  up  and  down,  meditating. 
At  last  he  turned  and  brought  his  fist  down  on  the  table 
so  hard  that  the  bloodhound  bayed. 

"This  is  murder  as  well  as  arson.  I  want  that  under- 
stood." 

"I  understood  it/'  smiled  the  inspector. 

"Who  saw  this  will?" 

"There's  no  secret  there.  Its  contents  are  common 
property,  I  should  say.  It  was  Mrs.  Arnold,  the  sister- 
in-law,  who  dropped  me  the  first  hint ;  and  Floyd  himself 
has  owned  that  his  uncle  made  a  will  three  weeks  ago, 
cutting  him  down  to  $20,000." 

"How  did  the  professor  come  to  postpone  his  will-mak- 
ing so  long?" 


34  THE    INCENDIARY. 

"Satisfied,  I  suppose,  with  the  laws  of  intestate  de- 
scent." 

"The  other  heir  gets  it  all?" 

"Harry  Arnold?  No.  I  believe  some  goes  to  charity, 
the  servants  and  so  on.  A  $10,000,000  cake  will  cut  up 
into  several  neat  slices,  you  know."  But  the  thoughts  of 
the  district  attorney  seemed  to  move  habitually  on  a 
higher  plane. 

"Floyd  was  a  sister's  son.  Perhaps  that  is  why  the  pro- 
fessor preferred  him  to  his  cousin,"  he  said. 

"A  life-long  preference  which  does  not  appear  in  his 
testament,  however." 

"But  why  did  he  cast  him  off  at  the  eleventh  hour?" 

"The  boy  didn't  know  enough  to  groom  and  currycomb 
the  old  gentleman  properly.  Only  21,  you  know,  and 
self-willed.  That's  in  the  Arnold  blood.  Besides,  he's 
a  socialist  or  anarchist,  I'm  told,  and  keeps  company  with 
a  photographic  retoucher  as  poor  as  Job.  Something  of 
the  sort.  Who  knows?  A  straw  will  turn  a  man's  mind 
at  fourscore." 

"And  how  about  Mungovan  and  the  Greeley  woman?" 

"Accomplices,"  said  McCausland,  but  added  more  cau- 
tiously, "from  present  appearances,  at  least." 

There  was  a  knock  on  the  door  and  the  bloodhound 
again  performed  the  duties  of  sentinel,  receiving  his  mas- 
ter's praise  with  such  marks  of  dignified  gratification  as 
became  his  enormous  size. 

"Miss  Wesner,"  announced  the  mulatto. 

"Presently,"  answered  the  inspector.  "Well,  action  or 
inaction?"  he  said,  presenting  an  alternative  of  two  fingers 
to  the  district  attorney. 

"I  must  go  over  this  evidence  in  detail.  Will  you  send 
the  Swedish  girl  to  my  office  again  to-morrow?" 

"I  think  I  can  lay  my  hands  on  her." 

At  that  very  moment,  in  another  part  of  the  city  Robert 
Floyd  was  walking  down  to  the  electric  car  between  a 
squad  of  policemen,  followed  by  a  motley  crowd  that  pro- 
faned the  Sabbath  with  its  clamor.  Once  aboard  the  swift 
vehicle,  he  was  safe  from  pursuit,  but  his  liberty  was  short- 
lived. For,  as  a  result  of  Noah  Bigelow's  second  inter- 


THE   INCENDIARY.  35 

view  with  Bertha  and  his  review  of  McCausland's  rea- 
soning, a  warrant  was  made  out  and  he  was  arrested  Mon- 
day noon  on  the  charge  of  arson  and  homicide. 


CHAPTER  V. 
HE   IS    TRIED    IN    THE    BALANCE. 

There  was  a  pause  in  the  little  court-room  when  the 
formal  proclamations  of  the  crier  and  clerk  were  ended. 

''Are  you  guilty  or  not  guilty,  Robert  Floyd?" 

He  bore  the  scrutiny  of  many  hundred  eyes  calmly. 
Earnestness  must  have  been  the  usual  expression  of  his 
face,  but  today  its  flashing  eyes  and  curled  upper  lip  con- 
trolled the  aquiline  features  and  made  their  dominant 
aspect  one  of  defiance. 

He  was  olive-skinned,  as  his  uncle  may  have  been  in 
his  youth.  His  hair  was  dark.  Spots  of  dark  red  were 
burning  in  his  cheek,  and  his  voice,  when  he  spoke,  of  a 
rich  contralto  quality,  had  some  subtle  affiliation  with 
darkness,  too.  Altogether  a  Roman  soul,  the  unpreju- 
diced observer  would  have  said,  but  somewhat  lacking  in 
the  blitheness  which  is  proper  to  youth. 

"Not  guilty,"  the  answer  was  recorded. 

The  spectators  listened  in  a  strained  and  oppressive 
silence.  Within  the  bar  sat  old  John  Davidson,  looking 
very  sympathetic  and  not  a  little  perplexed  as  he  reared 
his  chair  back  against  the  railing.  Through  the  open 
door  of  an  ante-room  peeped  the  chubby  form  of  In- 
spector McCausland,  cordially  shaking  hands  with 
acquaintances  and  answering  to  the  sobriquet  of  "Dick." 
For  professional  reasons  the  inspector  avoided  making 
his  person  known  to  the  multitude,  but  once  or  twice 
he  sent  in  messages  to  the  district  attorney,  and  finally 
stepping  to  the  door,  caught  his  eye  and  beckoned  him 
outside.  Noah  Bigelow  had  been  sitting  silently  at  the 


36  THE    INCENDIARY. 

prosecutor's  desk,  his  prodigious  black  beard  sweeping 
his  breast  and  his  tufted  eyebrows  leveled  steadily  at  the 
prisoner,  as  if  to  read  his  soul.  When  he  rose  at  McCaus- 
land's  signal  the  entire  court-room  followed  his  broad 
back  receding  through  the  door  of  the  chamber. 

"The  prisoner,"  said  the  judge,  "declines  the  advice 
of  counsel  and  offers  himself  for  examination  unaided. 
He  is  hereby  warned  of  his  right  under  the  law  to  chal- 
lenge any  question  which  may  incriminate  or  tend  to 
incriminate  him.  The  court  will  see  that  this  right  is 
protected.  We  are  ready  for  the  evidence." 

"Miss  Bertha  Lund,"  called  Badger.  She  arose,  the 
same  tidy,  buxom  maiden  as  ever,  but  pale  and  with 
traces  of  tears.  An  oath  was  administered  and  the  young 
woman  motioned  to  the  witness-box. 

"How  long  have  you  been  a  servant  in  the  Arnold 
house,  Miss  Lund?"  asked  Badger,  who  was  conducting 
the  case  for  the  government. 

"Going  on  six  years." 

"And  you  have  known  the  prisoner  all  this  time?" 

"Of  course." 

"You  were  in  at  the  time  of  the  fire,  on  Saturday?" 

"I  was." 

"And  gave  the  alarm,  did  you  not?" 

"I  did." 

Bertha's  rising  inflection  had  hardly  varied  in  the  last 
three  answers,  and  her  blue  eyes  were  riveted  on  the 
lawyer's. 

"Won't  you  tell  the  court  how  you  were  occupied  prior 
to  your  discovery  of  the  fire?" 

Thus  directed,  Bertha  half-inclined  her  person  toward 
the  judge. 

"Part  of  the  time  I  was  dusting  the  study  and  part  of 
the  time  I  was  upstairs." 

"What  were  you  doing  upstairs?" 

"Nothing,  except  looking  out  of  the  window  into  the 
street" 

"What  window?" 

"Mr.  Robert's." 

"And  what  street?" 


THE   INCENDIARY.  37 

"Cazenove  street.'' 

"Was  any  one  else  in  the  house  at  that  time?" 

"Not  after  Ellen  went  out." 

"You  are  sure  Ellen  had  gone  out?'' 

"Well,  what  do  you  mean  by  sure?" 

"What  made  you  think  she  had  gone  out?" 

"She  told  me  she  was  going  out.  She  was  dressed  in 
her  street  dress  and  I  heard  the  door  slam.  That's  three 
reasons." 

"You  heard  the  door  slam?  The  front  door,  I  sup- 
pose? There  is  only  one  door?" 

"No,  there's  the  back  door,  leading  into  the  passage- 
way." 

"And  where  does  the  passageway  lead?" 

"Why,  it  runs  alongside  the  house  from  Cazenove 
street  to  Broad." 

The  district  attorney  diverted  attention  for  a  moment 
by  making  his  way  to  his  seat  through  the  crowd.  He 
was  the  opposite  of  Badger  in  everything;  the  one  burly 
and  slack,  but  with  the  stamp  of  moral  energy  in  his 
bearing;  the  other  immaculate  from  cravat  to  cuff  borders 
and  athletic  if  slight  in  build. 

"Was  it  the  back  door  or  the  front  door  you  heard 
slam,  Miss  Lund?"  resumed  Badger,  continuing  to  con- 
fer in  an  undertone  with  the  district  attorney. 

"It  was  the  back  door,  sir,  I  suppose." 

"Aren't  you  sure?" 

"Pretty  sure." 

"Wasn't  it  probably  the  front  door?" 

"No,  it  was  the  back  door,  I'm  positive." 

"Then  Ellen  went  out  of  the  back  door  and  left  you  and 
Floyd  alone  in  the  house?" 

"Yes,  sir,  Mr.  Robert  and  I  were  the  only  ones  in." 

"Just  when  was  this  slamming  of  the  door,  at  what 
time?  With  reference,  I  mean,  to  your  own  movements 
and  the  movements  of  others  in  the  house?'' 

"Well,  I  was  up  stairs  and  down,  in  and  out,  and  Mr. 
Robert  was  in  the  study.  I  couldn't  tell  you  just  when." 

"Very  well " 

"And,  if  it's  not  improper,  I  wish  to  say  that  I  am  not 


38  THE    INCENDIARY. 

here  of  my  own  choosing,  for  as  sure  as  my  name  is 
Bertha  Lund,  Robert  Floyd  never  set  that  fire." 

This  sally  was  received  in  silence  by  the  spectators. 
They  looked  expectantly  toward  the  judge  and  the  attor- 
neys. Floyd's  look  was  as  spirited  and  firm  as  ever, 
as  he  scanned  the  faces  packed  around  him,  nodding 
to  a  lady  in  the  front  bench,  but  letting  his  eyes  dwell 
oftenest,  with  a  kind  of  interrogative  look,  followed  by 
an  expression  of  soft  satisfaction,  on  a  younger  face.  It 
was  golden-haired  Emily  Barlow,  transfixed  with  interest 
in  the  proceedings.  Not  even  the  dark  visage  of  the 
negro  in  the  corner  stood  out  so  cameo-like  from  the 
multitude  as  hers,  partly  by  its  sweetness  of  beauty,  but 
more  by  the  parted  lips  and  eager  gaze. 

"The  witness  is  not  to  volunteer  opinions,  but  simply 
to  give  the  facts  she  is  requested  to  give,  clearly  and 
truthfully,  as  her  oath  requires."  This  reproof  was  not 
harshly  spoken  by  the  judge.  "You  may  continue,  Mr. 
Badger." 

"Mr.  Floyd  was  in  the  study,  then?" 

"Yes,  sir,  he  was." 

"Where  the  fire  started?" 

"It  started  in  the  study." 

"Will  you  describe  to  the  court,  without  any  omissions, 
everything  you  did  and  everything  you  saw  Mr.  Floyd 
do  from  the  time  he  opened  the  study  door  until  you 
descended  the  stairway  and  discovered  the  room  afire?" 

"Well,  sir,  when  Mr.  Robert  unlocked  the  door '' 

"Which  door?" 

"The  study." 

"It  had  been  locked,  then?" 

"Yes,  sir;  Mr.  Robert  had  locked  it  after  the  professor 
died." 

"Which  was  on  Tuesday?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Go  on  with  your  story." 

"After  Mr.  Robert  opened  the  study  door  he  was 
acting  lonesome.  I  went  in  and  said,  'Shall  I  dust  the 
room,  Mr.  Robert?  It  needs  it.'  'Yes,  do,  Bertha,'  said 
he.  'I'm  expecting  a  lawyer.  Is  Ellen  in?'  'She  was 


THE    INCENDIARY.  39 

going  out,'  I  answered,  'but  I  think  I  heard  her  run  up- 
stairs to  her  room.'  Well,  I  went  for  the  duster,  and 
when  I  came  back  Mr.  Robert  was  standing  over  the 
hearth.  'Is  that  you,  Ellen?'  he  said,  dazed-like  and 
absent-minded.  But  when  'he  saw  it  was  me  he  only 
laughed." 

"What  was  Mr.  Floyd  doing  when  you  startled  him?" 
interposed  the  deep  bass  of  the  district  attorney, 
cutting  short  the  progress  of  the  girl's  high  treble. 

"Why,  sir,  he  was  stooping  over." 

"Over  the  hearth,  you  said?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Did  you  see  anything  in  his  hands  at  the  time?" 

"Why,  he  was  picking  up  little  bits  of  paper,  as  though 
he  had  just  torn  a  letter  to  pieces." 

"Go  on,"  said  Badger,  making  a  note  of  this  fact. 

"While  I  was  dusting  the  furniture  Mr.  Robert  went 
out  into  the  professor's  chamber  and  brought  in  the 
canary.  The  poor  thing  hadn't  sung  since  the  professor 
died.  It  was  he  who  used  to  feed  it  and  talk  to  it.  But 
when  Mr.  Robert  brought  it  into  its  old  room  and  I  pulled 
up  the  curtains  to  let  in  the  sunshine  it  set  up  such  a 
trilling  and  chirping  I  could  hardly  help  crying." 

"On  which  floor  is  this  study?" 

"The  front  room,  one  flight  up." 

"How  high  above  the  street?  You  couldn't  reach  it 
from  the  sidewalk?" 

"Not  without  a  ladder." 

"And  you  didn't  keep  a  ladder  resting  against  the 
front  of  your  house,  usually?" 

"No  more  usually  than  other  folks  do." 

"There  was  no  tree,"  asked  the  district  attorney, 
"whose  branches  hung  near  the  window?" 

"No,  sir;  there  was  none,"  answered  Bertha,  respect- 
fully. 

"Now,  the  rest  of  your  story,  Miss  Lund,"  said  Badger; 
"the  canary  bird  had  been  brought  in.  Did  it  perch  on 
Floyd's  finger?" 

"Canary  birds  will  use  their  wings  like  other  folks  if 


40  THE   INCENDIARY. 

they  are  let  No,  it  was  brought  in  in  the  cage  and 
the  cage  hung  on  the  hook,  just  as  it  used  to  be.'' 

"Why  had  it  been  removed?" 

"So  as  to  feed  it,"  answered  Bertha,  triumphantly. 

"Was  there  any  other  living  thing  in  the  room  at  this 
time?" 

"Is  a  dog  a  living  thing?"  Being  human,  Bertha  re- 
sented catechising.  The  temptation  to  answer  one  ques- 
tion by  another  is  strong,  even  when  one  isn't  a  New- 
Englander  by  birth. 

"Previous  to  its  death,  it  may  be  considered  alive," 
answered  Badger,  dryly. 

"Well,  Sire  was  there." 

"A  dog,  I  presume,  from  your  last  response.  Continue 
from  the  point  when  the  cage  was  brought  in." 

"I  went  upstairs,  as  I  told  you  before,  when  I  had 
finished  my  dusting.  Then  I  sat  down  in  Mr.  Robert's 
room." 

"Was  that  all  you  did? — to  sit  down?" 

"Yes." 

Bertha's  replies  had  gradually  come  down  to  monosyl- 
labic length  and  it  looked  as  if  the  next  step  might  be 
silence.  But  the  district  attorney  interposed  with  a  nod 
and  a  smile,  which  worked  like  magic  in  loosening  her 
tongue. 

"Well,"  she  continued,  "I  was  sitting  at  Mr.  Robert's 
window  when  I  noticed  Sire's  barking.  I  thought  it 
was  odd  if  he  was  playing  with  Mr.  Robert,  they  both 
took  on  so  at  the  professor's  death.  But  it  kept  up  and 
kept  up,  so  I  slipped  down  to  see  and  the  first  thing  I 
smelled  was  smoke.  It  was  leaking  out  through  the 
study  keyhole  and  I  could  hear  Sire  barking  and  pawing 
at  the  knob  inside.  Of  course  I  opened  the  door  and 
rushed  in  to  save  the  canary,  but  the  fire  stung  me  so 
I  thought  I  was  suffocated.  Sire  began  running  around 
and  I  called  for  Mr.  Robert,  thinking  he  was  in  the  room, 
for  the  smoke  was  hiding  everything.  Oh,  I  tell  you  my 
heart  stopped  when  my  voice  came  back  to  me  all  hollow 
in  that  empty  house.  It  was  then  I  ran  down  to  the 
street." 


THE    INCENDIARY.  41 

"One  moment,  Miss  Lund.  Did  you  or  did  you  not 
observe  anything  new  or  unusual  in  the  room  when  you 
were  engaged  in  dusting  the  chairs?" 

"No,  sir;  I  don't  remember  anything  unusual." 

"How  long  were  you  upstairs?" 

"I  couldn't  say.  I'm  not  good  at  guessing  time.  There 
are  some  folks,  like  Senda  Wesner,  seem  to  have  a  clock 
going  in  their  heads,  but  I'm  not  one  of  them.  Perhaps 
it  was  ten  minutes." 

"Miss  Lund,"  the  district  attorney  stroked  his  great 
beard,  as  he  was  apt  to  do  in  driving  home  a  crucial 
question.  "Can  you  now  fix  more  precisely  the  moment 
of  the  door  slam,  which  you  say  convinced  you  of  Ellen's 
departure?" 

"No,  sir;  the  door  slam,"  Bertha  touched  her  fore- 
head, trying  to  remember,  "the  door  slam  is  all  mixed 
up  with  the  barking  and  fire,  so  I  can't  untangle  it 
at  all." 

"It  seems  to  be  a  part  of  this  chain  of  events  you  have 
just  narrated  so  clearly  for  us?  You  think,  you  thought 
at  the  time,  it  was  Ellen  leaving  the  house?" 

"Yes,  sir.  It  was  the  back  door.  Who  else  could  it 
be  ?  Besides,  Mr.  Robert  was  quiet.  He  never  slammed 
the  door." 

"I  simply  wanted  the  girl's  best  evidence  to  the  fact 
that  they  were  alone  in  the  house  at  this  time,''  said 
the  district  attorney. 

"But  the  girl,  Ellen,  seems  to  have  been  about  until 
the  fire  was  set,"  answered  the  judge. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

AND    IS   FOUND  WANTING. 

After  the  noon  recess  Bertha  was  called  to  finish  her 
testimony,  with  the  promise  that  she  would  not  be  de- 
tained long. 

"A  description  of  the  study,  Miss  Lund,  when  you 
were  dusting." 


42  THE    INCENDIARY. 

"Everything  was  left  just  as  it  was  when  the  professor 
fell  dead  on  the  threshold  Tuesday  evening.'' 

"Did  you  notice  any  foreign  substance — any  accumu- 
lation of  what  might  afford  fuel  for  a  fire?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Any  odor?" 

"Only  that  the  room  was  close  from  being  shut  up." 

"Describe  the  contents  of  the  room." 

"Well,  it  was  full  of  books,  on  shelves  that  ran  all 
around." 

"Yes?" 

"Two  windows;  a  cage  before  one,  the  nearest  to  the 
door,  and  a  writing  desk  before  the  one  in  the  farthest 
corner." 

"Well?" 

"A  safe  partly  built  in  the  wall  beside  the  door." 

"How  high  from  the  ground?" 

"About  up  to  my  waist." 

"Did  you  notice  anything  underneath  it?" 

"Yes,  there  was  the  gunpowder  box  Mr.  Robert  put 
there." 

"A  box  full  of  gunpowder  placed  there  by  Floyd?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

This  statement  made  a  profound  impression,  but 
Badger  did  not  push  the  subject  further.  The  prisoner 
almost  smiled. 

"Well?"  Badger  said. 

"Oh,  everything  else  was  just  as  the  professor  left  it. 
His  slippers  under  his  chair,  his  dressing-gown  over  the 
back  of  it,  his  spectacles  on  the  desk,  his  bible  laid  down 
open.  He  was  going  to  meet  a  caller,  you  know,  when 
he  was  taken  with  the  stitch." 

"Very  well.  Perhaps  we  'have  had  enough  of  the  pro- 
fessor," said  Badger.  But  the  accused  did  not  find  these 
minutiae  trivial.  For  the  first  time  his  proud  face  broke 
and  he  hid  the  tears  with  his  hand.  The  mention  of 
the  bible,  slippers  and  the  other  personal  mementos  had 
called  up  the  dearest  picture  he  ever  knew. 

All  the  grand  life,  equally  compounded  of  whims  and 


THE    INCENDIARY.  43 

principles,  passed  before  him  at  Bertha's  mention  of  the 
empty  chair. 

But  the  sympathy  of  the  spectators  was  short-lived. 
While  Robert  wept  a  strain  of  sad  music  stole  into  the 
court-room.  Faint  at  first,  it  rose  in  volume  as  the  play- 
ers approached,  but  still  with  a  muted  sound,  as  if  their 
instruments  were  muffled.  The  drum-beats  were  rare  and 
unobtrusive,  and  the  burden  of  the  melody,  if  melody  it 
were,  was  borne  by  proud  bugles  and  quivering  oboes. 
Its  cadences  were  old  and  mysterious,  like  some  Gre- 
gorian chant  intoned  in  cloisters  before  organ  and  orches- 
tra had  trained  our  ears  to  the  chords  of  harmony.  No 
wonder  the  court-room  was  hushed  until  it  died  away 
in  the  distance. 

It  was  the  Masonic  dead  march,  for  on  this  day  the 
funerals  of  the  dead  whom  Robert  Floyd  was  accused  of 
murdering  were  being  held.  Oscar  Schubert,  as  a  mem- 
ber of  the  mystic  order,  was  buried  with  all  the  pomp 
of  its  ceremonies,  and  it  was  his  cortege,  proceeding 
to  the  sepulcher,  whose  passage  occasioned  this  pause 
in  the  trial. 

The  revulsion  of  sympathy  was  instant.  Every  man  in 
the  court-room  saw  the  wife  and  two  children,  sitting 
behind  drawn  curtains  in  the  carriage  of  the  chief  mourn- 
ers, and  beyond  this  picture  the  bodies  of  six  victims, 
four  of  them  young  girls,  done  to  death  at  the  prompt- 
ing of  avarice.  The  prisoner  himself  seemed  to  under- 
stand, for  he  shut  his  teeth,  though  his  bold  eyes  still 
dared  the  multitude.  But  they  rested  more  and  more 
upon  the  lovely  face  which  was  his  one  point  of  consola- 
tion in  that  unfriendly  assemblage.  Badger's  indifferent 
voice  showed  no  quiver  when  he  asked  Miss  Lund  to  step 
down  and  called  for  Robert  Floyd.  It  was  a  brusque 
opening. 

"What  was  contained  in  the  safe  in  your  uncle's  study?" 

"I  never  opened  it." 

"You  knew,  however?'' 

"What  he  had  told  me." 

"Was  his  will  there?" 

"I  have  reason  to  believe  so." 


44  THE   INCENDIARY. 

"Did  you  believe  so  on  Saturday,  while  you  were  in 
the  room  with  Miss  Lund?" 

"I  did  not  give  the  matter  any  thought  at  that  time." 
Floyd  spoke  as  though  the  spirit  burned  hot  within  him. 
"And  I  will  add " 

"Nothing,"  said  Badger.    But  the  judge  looked  up. 

"This  is  a  court,  not  a  court-martial,"  he  said,  quietly, 
a  pale,  studious  man.  "The  witness  has  a  right  to  mod- 
ify his  answers." 

"I  have  only  this  to  say,"  continued  Floyd,  "to  hasten 
as  much  as  possible  this  preposterous  trial,  that  I  indorse 
every  word  of  Miss  Lund's  testimony,  and  accept  it  and 
proffer  it  as  my  own  upon  the  points  which  it  covers." 

"We  prefer "  But  the  district  attorney  interrupted 

his  assistant.  "Are  you  aware,  Mr.  Floyd,  of  the  gravity 
of  the  position  in  which  Miss  Lund's  testimony  involves 
you?  Sole  opportunity  is  almost  the  major  head  among 
those  which  the  government  is  required  to  prove." 

"I  accept  it  in  toto,  subject  to  the  privilege  of  volun- 
teering a  statement  if  my  examination  is  incomplete  or 
misleading." 

"We  shall  endeavor  to  make  it  both  adequate  and 
fair,''  said  the  district  attorney. 

"Leaving  the  safe  for  a  moment,"  resumed  the  exam- 
iner, "will  you  kindly  relate  your  movements,  Mr.  Floyd, 
subsequent  to  the  time  when  Bertha  left  you  to  go 
upstairs?" 

The  young  man  hesitated.  The  pause  was  so  long 
as  to  be  embarrassing.  Old  John  Davidson  coughed 
loudly  to  relieve  his  agitation.  When  the  witness  spoke 
at  last  he  seemed  to  be  remembering  with  difficulty. 

"I  remember  leaving  the  house  and  walking  about 
among  the  fields,  in  the  park,  I  think.  Yes,  I  took  a 
car  for  the  park.  In  the  evening  I  called  upon  Miss 
Barlow." 

He  looked  up  at  the  aureoled  face  and  faintly  smiled. 
The  sight  appeared  to  revive  him.  "From  that  point  my 

recollections  become  as  distinct  as  usual.  But "  He 

hesitated  once  more  and  Badger  left  him  unaided  in  his 
distress.  "The  truth  is,  this  was  my  first  visit  since  his 


THE   INCENDIARY.  45 

death  to  my  uncle's  study.  The  executor  had  telegraphed 
and  afterward  written  me  to  close  and  lock  it.  This  I 
did.  But  that  afternoon  I  was  expecting  a  visit  from 
him " 

"Who  is  this  executor?" 

"Mr.  Hodgkins  Hodgkins." 

"Of  the  firm  of  Hodgkins,  Hodgkins  &  Hodgkins?" 

"I  believe  so.  My  aunt,  Mrs.  Arnold,  had  called  at 
3  o'clock  to  say  that  he  had  arrived  from  New  York 
and  would  take  possession  of  the  papers  that  afternoon. 
So  I  unlocked  the  room  and  let  the  servant  dust  it.  The 
whole  meaning  of  my  loss  seemed  to  come  over  me  then, 
when  I  saw  the  empty  chair.  Before  that  I  had  been 
calm  enough.  But  the  sight  dazed  and  staggered  me. 
I  went  out,  fled,  taking  no  note  of  time  or  place.  I  be- 
lieve, I  know,  I  was  in  the  park,  but  until  I  arrived  at 
Miss  Barlow's,  outward  occurrences  made  little  memo- 
rable impression  upon  me." 

"I  presume  you  saw  or  were  seen  by  persons  on  the 
way?" 

"I  do  not  remember  any  one  in  particular." 

"Are  we  to  understand,"  said  the  district  attorney,  lis- 
tening intently,  "that  you  passed  this  long  period  in  a 
species  of  reverie  or  trance?" 

"An  intense  fit  of  abstraction,"  answered  Robert;  but 
the  district  attorney  looked  puzzled,  as  if  an  utterly  new 
and  virgin  problem  had  been  put  before  him  to  solve. 

"Without  food  until  you  returned  at  n  o'clock  to  the 
fire?"  asked  Badger. 

"Excepting  a  light  lunch  at  Miss  Barlow's.  Her 
mother  noticed  some  fatigue  in  me  and  pressed  me  to 
take  refreshment." 

"Was  there  no  mention  of  the  fire  there — a  fire  which 
was  destroying  your  home?" 

"We  spoke  of  it  casually,  but  I  did  not  know  until  later 
that  it  was  destroying  my  home." 

"Was  it  not  described  in  the  evening  papers?" 

"Not  in  the  early  editions,  Badger,"  put  in  the  district 
attorney.  "Only  in  the  later  specials." 


46  THE   INCENDIARY. 

"Very  well.  Now  let  us  get  back  to  the  safe.  Your 
uncle  had  made  a  will,  I  believe?'' 

"He  made  a  will  several  weeks  ago." 

"What  were  the  terms  of  that  document?" 

"I  do  not  know  them  in  full." 

"As  to  your  share?" 

"My  legacy  was  $20,000." 

"Out  of  an  estate  valued  at?" 

"I  have  heard  $10,000,000." 

"You  are  an  anarchist,  Mr.  Floyd?" 

"No,  sir." 

"But  a  radical  of  some  sort?'' 

"I  am  a  socialist;  a  developer,  not  a  destroyer." 

"Ah!"  said  Badger.  His  exclamation  was  icy  cold. 
"And  you  differed  from  your  uncle  on  other  points,  did 
you  not?" 

"We  took  the  liberty  of  honest  men  to  differ." 

"In  religion?'' 

"Yes.  He  was  a  high  churchman.  I  am — simply  a 
Christian." 

This  avowal  of  a  creed  brought  titters  among  the  spec- 
tators, who  apparently  were  accustomed  to  definitions 
narrower  if  more  precise. 

"And  as  a  result  of  these  quarrels  your  uncle  disin- 
herited you?" 

"Sir?" 

For  a  moment  the  prisoner's  outburst  of  indignation 
checked  the  current  of  opinion  which  had  been  flowing 
swiftly  against  him. 

"In  one  sentence  you  have  managed  to  outrage  the 
dead  as  well  as  the  living — and  to  convey  two  impres- 
sions distinctly  false.  My  uncle  and  I  never  quarreled, 
never!  He  was  a  father  and  more  than  a  father  to  me. 
Neither  did  he  disinherit  me.  It  was  his  wish  to  assign 
me  the  whole  property.  I  begged  him  to  omit  me  with- 
out more  than  a  memento  or  keepsake,  that  I  might  enter 
life  as  he  had  done,  as  every  man  should,  untrammeled — 
but  with  the  advantage,  I  feel  sure,  of  an  example  and 
an  inspiration  given  to  few  to  enjoy.  The  sum  left  me 
was  far  in  excess  of  my  desires." 


THE    INCENDIARY.  47 

There  was  another  long  silence  after  this  statement, 
but  it  expressed  only  incredulity. 

"When  was  this  very  extraordinary  will  drawn  up?" 

"Three  weeks  ago." 

"The  witnesses  are  living,  then?  It  is  to  be  presumed 
that  they,  too,  were  not  carried  off  by  the  holocaust  which 
so  reduced  our  population  last  Saturday."  Badger's  sar- 
casm was  brutal,  but  it  told. 

"The  witnesses  were  three  neighbors,  called  in.  The 
servants  could  not  act,  as  they  were  remembered  in  the 
document." 

"No  lawyer  was  present?" 

"My  uncle  seldom  employed  a  lawyer." 

Such  a  statement,  relating  to  a  man  of  Prof.  Arnold's 
wealth,  might  have  excited  doubt  if  his  eccentricity  on 
this  point  had  not  been  noised  about  beforehand. 

"He  drew  up  the  will  himself,  then?  Has  any  one 
seen  it  except  you?" 

"Not  so  far  as  I  know.    I  myself  never  saw  it." 

"But  you  knew  it  was  in  the  safe?" 

"I  supposed  so." 

"One  moment,"  said  the  district  attorney,  interrupting. 
"Once  more,  why  did  you  reopen  the  study  on  this  par- 
ticular day?" 

"Because  I  had  been  informed  that  Mr.  Hodgkins  was 
coming  to  remove  the  will." 

"By  whom  were  you  so  informed?" 

"Mrs.  Arnold  drove  up  about  3  o'clock  and  mentioned 
the  fact.  Indeed,  she  had  expected  to  find  him  at  the 
house.  He  was  an  old  acquaintance  of  hers,  as  well  as  of 
my  uncle — her  legal  adviser,  in  fact." 

A  stylish  woman,  still  fair  in  spite  of  her  50  years,  was 
sitting  in  front  of  Robert  as  he  testified.  She  was  the 
widow  of  Benjamin  Arnold's  brother,  Henry,  and  her 
son,  Henry,  or  Harry,  had  just  offered  a  reward  of  $5,000 
for  the  incendiary — a  sum  which  McCausland  might  well 
have  hopes  of  securing.  The  inspector  was  still  hover- 
ing about  the  threshold  of  his  ante-room,  and  now  that 
Floyd's  examination  was  concluded  he  called  the  district 
attorney  to  one  side,  apparently  urging  him  to  reserve 


48  THE   INCENDIARY. 

the  remainder  of  his  evidence,  which  would  naturally 
consist  of  rebuttal  of  Floyd  and  corroboration  of  Bertha. 
At  any  rate,  Mr.  Badger  arose,  and,  announcing  that 
the  case  was  closed,  offered  a  summary  of  the  evidence, 
rapid,  methodical,  but  unimpressive,  like  himself.  Then 
the  prisoner  was  asked  if  he  desired  to  speak  in  his  own 
behalf. 

"Your  honor,"  he  said,  "this  monstrous  charge  of  hav- 
ing set  on  foot  a  fire  in  the  most  populous  section  of  our 
noble  city  overwhelms  me  so  that  I  am  impotent  to  ex- 
press the  indignation  I  feel.  I  leave  it  to  your  own  sense 
of  justice,  your  own  discrimination,  whether  I  am  to  be 
dishonored  with  the  suspicion  of  an  infamous  crime,  on 
evidence  so  flimsy  that  the  bare  denial  of  a  veracious  man 
should  be  sufficient  to  upset  it.  I  read  in  many  faces 
around  me  the  hunger  for  blood;  the  unthinking  call  for 
a  victim.  Heed  that,  and  my  good  name  is  taken  from 
me.  I  am  irreparably  wronged.  Resist  it,  and  you  will 
prove  yourself  worthy  of  the  honorable  title  which  you 
bear." 

Not  a  few  were  swayed  toward  the  youth  by  his  mani- 
fest emotion.  But  the  judge  waited  fully  a  minute  before 
he  arose  and  his  eyeglasses  were  trembling  in  his  hand. 

"You  have  elected,  against  good  counsel,"  he  began, 
"to  be  your  own  advocate.  I  cannot  and  do  not  adjudge 
you  unsuccessful,  in  the  sense  of  having  demonstrated 
your  guilt  rather  than  your  innocence.  But  that  you 
have  failed  to  break  the  government's  chain  of  evidence 
in  its  most  damaging  links — sole  opportunity,  motive  and 
suspicious  conduct,  especially  after  the  act — is  plain  to 
me,  and  would  be  plain  to  any  mind  accustomed  to 
weighing  such  evidence  calmly. 

"It  is  true  the  evidence  is  wholly  circumstantial.  No 
eye  but  God's  saw  this  foul  deed  done.  But  since  William 
Rufus  was  found  dead  in  the  New  Forest,  with  Walter 
Tyrrell's  arrow  in  his  breast,  men  have  been  convicted 
of  murder  on  circumstantial  evidence,  and  will  continue 
to  be  so  convicted  as  long  as  probability  remains  the 
guide  of  life. 

"I  am  obliged,  therefore,  to  remand  you  for  trial,  not 


THE    INCENDIARY.  49 

only  on  the  charge  of  arson,  but  upon  the  graver  charge 
of  homicide  involved  in  it  under  the  peculiar  circum- 
stances of  the  case.  This  is  not  a  final  verdict.  Far  be 
it  from  me,  one  erring  man,  to  say  that  the  government 
has  fastened  this  crime  upon  you  beyond  reasonable 
doubt.  But  in  the  face  of  the  evidence  which  has  been 
brought  forward  I  could  not  order  your  release.  It  be- 
comes my  unhappy  duty,  as  the  examining  magistrate,  to 
commit  you  to  custody,  to  await  the  approaching  session 
of  the  grand  jury." 

When  Emily  Barlow  awoke  from  her  swoon  she  found 
herself  in  the  arms  of  old  John  Davidson.  Perhaps  it 
was  as  well  she  did  not  hear  the  jeer  of  execration  which 
greeted  the  prisoner  outside  when  he  passed  over  the 
sidewalk,  ironed  between  two  stalwart  officers,  into  the 
jail  van.  McCausland's  identification  with  the  case  had 
affected  public  opinion  profoundly,  for  he  was  said  never 
to  have  failed  to  convict  a  criminal  whom  he  had  once 
brought  into  court.  But  possibly  the  outburst  was  due 
to  the  circumstance  that  this  was  the  neighborhood  in 
which  the  Lacy  girls  lived  and  that  their  funeral  had 
taken  place  that  very  morning. 


CHAPTER  VII. 
THE   CLOUDS    THICKEN. 

"Shagarach  is  the  man  to  defend  him,  Miss  Barlow," 
said  old  John  Davidson.  She  was  lying  back  against  the 
cushions  of  the  cab,  with  cheeks  as  white  as  the  handker- 
chief she  held  to  her  lips.  For  the  marshal  had  kindly 
offered  to  accompany  her  'home  and  she  had  told  him 
part  of  her  story. 

She  was,  as  McCausland  had  said  to  the  district  attor- 
ney, a  photographic  retoucher.  You  must  know  that  a 
negative  when  it  leaves  the  camera  is  no  more  fit  for 
display  than  milk  fresh  from  the  cow  is  drinkable.  All 
the  minor  blemishes  which  you  and  I,  not  being  made  in 


50  THE   INCENDIARY. 

the  stamp  of  bluff  old  Oliver,  dislike  to  see  perpetuated  in 
our  counterfeit  presentments,  must  be  carefully  stippled 
out.  The  work  is  not  without  its  irksomeness,  requiring 
long  hours  of  labor  as  well  as  firmness  of  touch.  The 
strain  upon  the  young  lady's  eyes  was  evident,  and  her 
face,  for  all  its  beauty,  was  as  delicate  as  thinnest  porce- 
lain. One  felt  that  her  fingers,  if  she  held  them  toward 
the  sun,  would  show  the  red  suffusion  of  a  child's.  But 
her  earnings  supported  a  family  of  five,  and  her  char- 
acter had  won  the  love  of  Robert  Floyd. 

"Who  is  Shagarach?"  she  asked,  as  if  struck  by  the 
name. 

"Shagarach!  Why,  Shagarach's  the  coming  man,  the 
greatest  criminal  lawyer  in  the  state  and  the  greatest 
cross-examiner  in  the  world — a  mind  reader,  black  art 
in  it.  Never  lost  a  case." 

"This  is  my  number,  Mr.  Davidson." 

"Ho,  there!  John!  Cabby!"  The  marshal  rapped  at 
the  window. 

"What  was  the  number,  miss?" 

"Four  hundred  and  twelve." 

"Stop  at  4i2.:' 

"You  have  been  very  kind  to  interest  yourself  in  one 
who  is  not  known  to  you,  Mr.  Davidson.  I  should  have 
been  badly  off  without  your  assistance." 

"Didn't  do  half  enough,"  answered  the  marshal.  "Glad 
to  be  of  service.  Call  on  me  again.  Here's  Shagarach's 
address.  Take  my  advice  and  look  him  up." 

He  had  been  writing  on  the  back  of  a  card  while  the 
cab-driver  was  slowing  his  team  around  in  front  of  Miss 
Barlow's  door.  It,  read  in  a  scrawl,  rendered  half-illeg- 
ible by  the  jolting :  "Meyer  Shagarach,  31  Putnam 
street." 

Emily  looked  twice  at  the  singular  name.  McCaus- 
land  never  failed  to  convict  his  prisoners.  Shagarach's 
clients  invariably  escaped.  What  would  happen  if  the 
two  were  pitted  against  each  other?  This  was  her 
thought  when  she  mounted  the  dear  steps  of  home  and  fell 
weeping  into  the  arms  of  her  mother. 

The  following  morning  a  remarkable  discovery  was 


THE    INCENDIARY.  51 

made  on  the  site  of  Prof.  Arnold's  house.  The  burned 
district  had  been  roped  off  and  was  guarded  by  police- 
men, owing  to  the  danger  from  the  standing  walls  and 
still  smoking  debris.  But  tip-carts  had  begun  to  remove 
what  was  removable  of  the  wreck,  and  the  work  of  clear- 
ing away  the  ground  was  already  well  under  way.  Sight- 
seers in  great  numbers  went  out  of  their  course  to  pass 
the  ruins,  for  the  Harmon  building  was  of  recent  erec- 
tion and  had  been  styled  a  model  of  business  architecture. 

But  "Toot"  Watts,  "Turkey"  Fenton  and  "The  Whis- 
tler'' were  not  indulging  in  reminiscences  of  departed 
architectural  glories  that  morning.  They  averaged  14 
years  and  1 10  pounds,  a  combination  hostile  to  sentiment 
in  any  but  its  most  robust  forms.  "That  nutty  duffer 
gives  me  a  pain,"  was  their  unanimous  criticism  from  the 
gallery  of  the  "Grand  Dime,"  upon  the  garden  rhapsodies 
of  their  co-mate  and  brother  in  adolescence,  Romeo.  But 
in  the  evenings,  if  that  long  fence,  which  is  the  gamin's 
delight,  happened  to  be  under  surveillance  from  the 
"cop,"  they  would  march  up  street  and  down,  Turkey 
mouthing  his  harmonica,  Toot  opening  and  shutting  a 
wheezy  accordion,  the  Whistler  fifing  away  with  that 
thrush-like  note  to  which  he  owed  his  nickname,  and 
all  three  beating  time  by  their  own  quick  footsteps  to  the 
melody  of  some  sweet,  familiar  song.  Amid  such  sur- 
roundings even  the  ditties  sung  by  our  mothers  many 
seasons  ago  can  bring  up  wholesome  sentiments  in  which 
the  boyish  musicians  who  evoke  them  are  surely  sharers. 

On  the  day  before  Toot  had  surreptitiously  conveyed 
a  fresh  egg  to  school  and  rolled  it  playfully  down  the 
aisle,  whereupon  Turkey,  as  he  was  walking  out  at  4,  had 
set  the  stamp  of  approval  on  his  friend's  property.  All 
three  had  decided  to  take  a  day  off  until  the  affair  should 
blow  over,  and  no  better  pastime  suggested  itself  than  a 
visit  to  the  fire,  in  which  they  took  a  sort  of  proprietary 
interest,  since  they  had  been  the  first  after  the  bake-shop 
girl,  to  arrive  on  the  spot.  The  passageway  beside  the 
house  was  still  left  open  and  unguarded.  So  our  urchins, 
approaching  from  the  Broad  street  side,  coolly  entered 
the  forbidden  precincts  thereby,  thus  eluding  the  blue- 


52  THE    INCENDIARY. 

coated  watchers  by  a  flank  movement  as  simple  as  it  was 
effective. 

"I'm  goin'  to  pick  up  junk  and  sell  it  to  Bagley,"  said 
Turkey,  filling  his  pocket  with  bolts,  nuts  and  other 
fragments  which  he  deemed  of  value.  The  others  fol- 
lowed his  example  and  began  rummaging  about  with 
insecure  footing  among  the  heaps. 

"Whew!"  the  Whistler  emitted  a  long-drawn  note  no 
flute  could  possibly  rival.  He  had  been  brushing  away 
the  ashes  from  a  heavy  object,  when  his  eye  was  attracted 
by  a  fragment  of  cloth,  which  clung  about  it.  His  whis- 
tle drew  the  attention  of  his  companions,  but  it  also  in- 
vited a  less  welcome  arrival,  no  other  than  one  of  the 
patrolmen  doing  guard  duty,  who  swooped  down  and 
seized  Turkey  and  the  Whistler  by  their  collars,  while 
Toot  scrambled  off  with  unseemly  haste  and  escaped 
down  the  alleyway. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  said  the  officer,  shaking 
the  boys  till  their  teeth  chattered,  and  several  pieces  of 
iron,  dropping  out  of  Turkey's  pockets,  disclosed  the  ob- 
ject of  their  visit.  "Stealing  junk,  eh?" 

"Say,  look,"  said  the  Whistler,  who  was  cool  and  in- 
ventive; "it's  a  woman."  He  was  pointing  to  the  object 
he  had  laid  bare.  The  officer  slackened  his  grip. 

"My  God!"  he  cried;  then  stooped  and  by  a  full  exer- 
tion of  his  strength  lifted  the  thing  out  of  the  ashes  and 
half-burned  timbers  which  overlay  it.  It  was,  indeed, 
the  body  of  a  woman,  short  and  stout.  The  boys  did  not 
run.  They  looked  on,  spellbound,  in  open-mouthed 
wonder. 

"Run  and  call  the  sergeant,"  said  the  policeman  to  his 
quondam  captives. 

The  news  spread  like  wildfire.  Hundreds  swarmed  to 
the  scene,  but  none  among  them  who  had  the  key  to  the 
woman's  identity.  Her  charred  face  and  burned  body 
rendered  identification  difficult  It  was  Inspector  Mc- 
Causland  who,  after  consulting  his  notebook,  recognized 
the  garment  and  the  form  which  it  clad  as  Ellen  Greeley's. 
An  ambulance  was  called  and  the  corpse  of  the  poor 


THE    INCENDIARY.  53 

woman  carried  away  to  the  morgue,  to  await  her  sister's 
instructions. 

Senda  Wesner,  the  bake-shop  girl,  had  described  this 
discovery  for  the  eleventh  time  to  her  customers,  and 
was  standing  on  the  steps  of  her  store  alone — a  condi- 
tion to  which  she  was  by. nature  averse — when  the  gold- 
en-haired lady  "flashed  in  upon  her,"  as  she  afterward 
said,  "like  a  Baltimore  oriole."  It  was  Emily  Barlow, 
who  had  run  down  during  her  lunch  hour  to  the  scene 
of  the  tragedy.  At  the  first  mention  of  her  name,  Miss 
Wesner  knew  her. 

"Oh,  you're  the  young  lady  he  kept  company  with," 
she  said.  "Isn't  it  too  bad?  I  don't  believe  he  ever  did 
it.  No  man  in  his  senses  would  set  his  own  house  afire 
and  then  walk  out  in  broad  daylight,  as  I  saw  Mr.  Flovd 
do." 

"You  saw  Mr.  Floyd  coming  out,  then?  Pardon  my 
curiosity,  but  I  am  so  deeply  interested " 

"I  shouldn't  think  much  of  you  if  you  were  not,"  said 
Senda  Wesner.  "I'm  glad  to  tell  all  I  know  about  it,  and 
I  can't  see  for  the  life  of  me  why  they  didn't  call  me  to 
the  stand." 

Emily  saw  that  no  apology  was  needed  for  questioning 
the  bake-shop  girl.  She  was  easy  to  make  free  with  and 
fond  of  running  on.  Being  a  little  reticent  herself,  Emily 
was  glad  to  be  relieved  of  the  necessity  of  putting  in- 
quiries. So  she  simply  guided  the  little  gossip's  talk. 

"You  did  see  Mr.  Floyd  leave  the  house?  Was  it  long 
before  the  fire  broke  out?'' 

"Four  or  five  minutes.  I'd  noticed  Bertha  raising  the 
curtains — two  Washington  pies?  yes'm — I'd  seen  Bertha 
up  in  the  study,  I  say,  but  then  Joe  Tyke,  Joey,  we  call 
him,  the  cripple  newsboy,  though  he  is  quite  a  man 
now,  but  he  never  grew,  deformed,  you  know — 
Joey  was  trundling  himself  along  on  his  little  cart,  and 
I  couldn't  take  my  eyes  off  of  him — 20  cents,  yes'm." 
The  bake-shcp  girl  continued  to  spread  jam,  ladle  milk 
and  wrap  warm  loaves  in  fresh  brown  paper,  all  the 
while,  but  her  interruptions  only  formed  tiny  ripples  on 
her  flowing  stream  of  prattle.  "Then  Mr.  Robert  came 


54  THE    INCENDIARY. 

out  and  walked  down  to  the  corner  slowly.  But  do  you 
know  what  puzzled  me?  What  was  he  stooping  over  the 
hearth  for  and  picking  up  those  pieces  of  paper?" 

"People  often  do  that.  Perhaps  he  had  torn  up  a  letter 
and  some  of  it  had  scattered  outside  the  fireplace.'' 

"Well,  I  didn't  see  another  thing,  not  one  thing,  against 
him,"  said  Miss  Wesner,  decidedly.  Her  ideas  on  the 
value  of  evidence  were  certainly  of  the  most  feminine 
order.  "I'm  sure  he's  a  young  man  of  the  highest  repu- 
tation. Never  smoked  or  drank  or " 

"You  didn't  see  any  other  person  coming  out  of  the 
house?" 

"No,  I  didn't.  Yes,  Gertrude,  and  how's  your  mamma? 
That's  a  sweet  thing,  only  10  years  old,  but  does  all  the 
errands  and  half  the  housework  for  her  mother,  that's 
sick,  and  never  slaps  the  baby." 

"Or  any  stranger  about?"  edged  in  Emily  again,  when 
the  spigot  was  finally  turned  off  and  the  waters  of  gossip 
had  ceased  to  run. 

"Do  you  know "  The  bake-shop  girl  dimpled  her 

cheek  with  her  forefinger.  It  was  a  healthy  cheek,  but 
not  beautiful.  "Do  you  know,  there  has  been  the  oddest 
peddler  around  here  for  the  last  three  weeks?" 

"Do  tell  me  about  him.  What  did  he  look  like?  A 
stranger?" 

"Never  passed  this  street  before  as  long  as  I  know  and 
that's  a  good  many  years.  He  was  a  sunburnt  sort  of 
man,  like  all  the  peddlers  (only  I'd  say  homelier,  if  I 
wasn't  a  fright  myself),  and  with  crazy  blue  eyes.  Always 
came  in  a  green  cart  and  sold  vegetables,  no,  once  potted 
plants.  But  how  he  would  yodel.  Why,  he'd  make  you 
deaf.  Ellen  used  to  buy  of  him  sometimes.  Nobody  else 
ever  did,  and  it's  my  opinion  when  he  left  the  Arnolds 
he  used  to  whip  up  his  horse  and  hurry  right  round  the 
corner." 

"Was  this  peddler  here  lately?" 

"Not  since  Friday,  the  day  before  the  fire;  I'm  posi- 
tive." 

"He  wasn't  here  Saturdav?" 


THE   INCENDIARY.  65 

"No,  he  wasn't.  But  I  must  say,  peddler  or  no  peddler, 
I  don't  believe  Robert  Floyd  ever  set  that  fire." 

There  was  more  that  Senda  Wesner  believed  and  dis- 
believed— so  much,  indeed,  that  when  Emily  left  her  she 
had  asked  herself  twice  what  a  room  full  of  Senda  Wes- 
ners  would  be  like.  But  she  checked  this  uncharitable 
thought.  The  girl  was  good-hearted  and  her  informa- 
tion about  the  peddler  might  prove  a  clew.  After  making 
a  half-circuit  of  the  house  which  was  so  familiar  to  her, 
for  she  had  visited  it  often,  she  returned  to  her  stippling 
pencil  in  the  photograph  gallery,  pondering  now  upon 
the  identity  of  the  strange  peddler,  now  upon  the  sad 
fate  of  Ellen  Greeley,  and  oftenest  of  all  on  the  lover 
who  was  spending  his  first  day  in  the  solitude  of  a  felon's 
cell. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

ENTER   SHAGARACH. 

"Meyer  Shagarach,  Attorney-at-Law." 

The  shingle  could  not  have  been  more  commonplace, 
the  office  stairs  more  dingy.  A  Jewish  boy  opened  the 
door  at  Emily's  knock  and  a  young  man  of  the  same  per- 
suasion arose  from  his  desk  and  bustled  forward  to  in- 
quire her  business. 

"Meester  Shagarach  is  in.    Did  you  wish  to  see  him?" 

After  a  moment  a  second  door  was  opened  and  Emily 
was  motioned  into  the  inner  office. 

"This  way,  madam." 

The  man  writing  at  the  table  barely  glanced  up  at  first, 
but,  seeing  who  his  visitor  was,  he  rose  and  placed  a 
seat  for  her.  There  was  courtesy  but  no  geniality  in  the 
gesture.  Shagarach  did  not  smile.  It  was  said  that  he 
never  smiled. 

From  the  beginning  Emily  felt'that  she  was  in  the  pres- 
ence of  a  man  of  destiny.  Before  sitting  down  her  intui- 
tions had  determined  her  to  enlist  this  force  on  Robert's 
side  at  any  cost.  Shagarach's  body  was  small,  his  cloth- 


56  THE   INCENDIARY. 

ing  mean  and  crinkled  all  over,  as  if  its  owner  spent  many 
hours  daily  crouched  in  a  chair.  But  the  face  drew  one's 
gaze  and  absorbed  it.  With  care  it  might  have  been 
handsome,  though  the  dead-black  beard  grew  wild  and 
the  hair,  tossed  carelessly  to  one  side,  fell  back  at  inter- 
vals, requiring  to  be  brushed  in  place  by  the  owner's  hand. 
Under  the  smooth,  bony  brow  that  marks  the  Hebrew 
shone  two  eyes  of  extraordinary  splendor,  the  largest, 
Emily  thought,  she  had  ever  seen,  and  set  the  widest 
apart — brown  and  melting  as  a  dog's,  but  glowing,  as  no 
dog's  ever  did,  with  profundities  of  human  intelligence. 
Wide  open  at  all  times,  they  cast  penetrating  glances, 
never  sidelong,  always  full — the  eyes  of  a  soul-searcher,  a 
student  of  those  characters,  legible  but  elusive;  which  the 
spirit  writes  upon  its  outer  garment.  Their  physical  di- 
mensions lent  a  large  power  to  the  face,  as  if  more  of  the 
visible  world  could  be  comprehended  within  those  mag- 
nificent organs  than  the  glances  of  ordinary  men  com- 
pass. But  the  mouth  below  seemed  rigid  as  granite, 
even  during  the  play  of  speech. 

"My  name  is  Miss  Barlow,"  said  Emily. 

"Come  to  engage  my  services  for  Floyd?"  he  inquired. 
It  was  his  habit  to  cut  into  the  heart  of  a  problem  at  the 
first  stroke  and  Emily  felt  grateful  on  the  whole  that  the 
preliminaries  were  shortened. 

"Mr.  Floyd  is  innocent  and  I  want  you  to  save  him." 

"Why  did  he  not  employ  an  advocate?" 

"The  judge " 

"Pursued  the  only  course  open  to  him.  The  evidence 
was  damaging.  What  have  you  learned  since  yester- 
day?" 

"Ellen  Greeley " 

"Is  dead.  The  dog's  instincts  were  right  then.  There 
was  some  one  inside.  Aronson." 

The  young  man  answered  this  peremptory  call. 

"My  Evening  Beacon." 

It  was  brought  at  once. 

"The  newspapers  are  correct  in  their  surmise.  Ellen 
Greeley  went  upstairs,  as  Bertha  testified.  The  day  was 
hot.  She  lay  upon  the  bed  in  her  own  room,  and  fell 


THE    INCENDIARY.  57 

asleep.  The  barking  of  Sire  did  not  wake  her.  Her 
room  was  in  the  rear,  two  flights  up.  The  shouting  of  the 
crowd  did  not  wake  her.  The  fire  may  have  waked  her 
too  late  and  her  shrieks  escaped  notice  in  the  uproar;  or 
she  may  have  been  suffocated  during  her  nap.'' 

Shagarach  spoke  in  a  clear,  loud  voice  that  expressed 
and  carried  conviction.  Emily  wondered  at  his  famil- 
iarity, far  surpassing  her  own,  with  the  details  of  the  case. 

"You  see  the  improvement  in  our  cause  at  oncei"' 

Emily  tried  hard  to  think. 

"Of  course  it  proved  Ellen  could  not  have  been  a  con- 
federate," she  suggested,  modestly. 

"Ellen  Greeley  sleeping  in  the  attic  chamber,  who 
slammed  the  door?" 

Shagarach's  eyes  shone  like  carbuncles.  "It  was  not 
Floyd.  He  was  not  in  the  habit  of  slamming  doors.  And 
no  man  seeking  to  escape  does  that  which  will  attract 
attention — unless" — he  dwelt  on  the  word  significantly — 
"unless  he  is  fleeing  in  haste." 

"Then  you  believe,  Mr.  Shagarach " 

"It  was  the  back  door  which  slammed.  They  failed  to 
confuse  Bertha  on  that.  It  slammed  after  Floyd  had  gone 
out.  Did  Floyd  go  out  the  back  door?" 

"Miss  Wesner,  the  young  lady  who  lives  opposite,  saw 
him  coming  down  the  front  steps." 

"When?" 

"Four  or  five  minutes  before  the  fire.5' 

"Ellen  did  not  go  out  the  back  door.  Floyd  did  not 
go  out  the  back  door.  Some  one  else  did." 

"And  you  will  take  the  case,  Mr.  Shagarach?"  Emily 
awaited  his  answer  as  breathlessly  as  if  Robert's  life  or 
death  hung  in  a  trembling  balance  which  Shagarach's 
finger  could  tip  to  one  side  or  the  other. 

"It  interests  me.  Have  you  a  photograph  of  the  ac- 
cused with  you?" 

"No,"  answered  Emily,  thinking  the  request  somewhat 
strange. 

Shagarach  began  gazing  at  her  with  extraordinary  in- 
tensity. The  great  will  inclosed  in  his  little  body  seemed 
to  bear  down  hard  upon  her  so  as  really  to  hurt.  But 


58  THE    INCENDIARY. 

she  felt  no  resentment,  only  a  kind  of  satisfied  acquies- 
cence, as  if  all  were  for  the  best.  Yet,  among  ordinary 
people  Emily  was  an  individuality  rare  and  fragrant,  as- 
serting herself  forcefully,  without  being  in  the  least  self- 
assertive. 

"Have  you  anything  else?"  asked  the  lawyer.  Emily 
did  not  know  how  long  the  interim  was. 

"There  is  the  strange  peddler,"  she  ventured  to  say. 
This  time  his  answer  was  an  interrogative  look. 

"Miss  Wesner  spoke  of  him  today — a  vegetable  ven- 
der, who  has  been  coming  to  the  Arnold's  for  the  last 
few  weeks " 

"How  many?" 

"Three  or  four,  I  think." 

"Since  the  will  was  made,  then?'' 

"And  dealing  with  Ellen.     About  the  will " 

"Let  us  finish  with  the  peddler." 

"He  had  blue  eyes  and  drove  a  cart  painted  green.  No- 
body had  ever  seen  him  in  the  neighborhood  before,  till 
he  came  selling  vegetables  and  potted  plants.  His  last 
visit  was  made  on  Friday." 

"Not  Saturday,  the  day  of  the  fire?" 

"Miss  Wesner,  who  is  very  observing,  has  not  seen 
him  since  Friday." 

"Not  as  a  peddler,"  said  Shagarach,  sotto  voce.  "Now 
as  to  the  will.  You  wish  to  say  that  Floyd  has  told  you 
of  his  uncle's  desire  to  make  him  sole  heir  and  his  own 
aversion  to  the  responsibilities  of  so  large  a  property." 

"Does  he  practice  clairvoyance?"  asked  Emily  of  her- 
self. 

"Robert  is  no  lover  of  money,"  she  said.  "To  allege 
avarice  against  him  as  a  motive  is  monstrous." 

"Avarice,  Miss  Barlow?  To  love  money  is  not  avarice. 
Men  grow  to  their  opportunities.  Without  opportunities 
they  wither  and  without  money  today  there  is  no  oppor- 
tunity." 

"The  artist — does  his  genius  gain  or  lose  when  it  is 
gilded?"  replied  Emily,  who  felt  a  match  even  for  Shaga- 
rach in  the  defense  of  her  lover. 

"The  artist — ah,  he  is  not  of  the  world!    Gold  might 


THE   INCENDIARY.  59 

well  be  to  him  an  incumbrance.     But  to  the  worker 
among  men  it  is  the  key  to  a  thousand  coffers." 

There  was  deep  feeling  in  these  words  of  the  criminal 
lawyer.  Emily  wondered  if  there  might  not  have  been 
a  past  of  poverty,  perhaps  of  spiritual  aspiration  and 
disappointment  in  his  life,  all  subdued  to  the  present  in- 
domitable aim  at  fortune  and  reputation. 

"The  refusal  was  a  folly,  a  stripling's  fatal  blunder — yet 
a  blunder  of  which  not  three  men  in  our  city  are  capable. 
Let  us  leave  the  will.  It  may  reappear  in  its  proper  se- 
quence. No  suspicious  character  was  seen  loitering  about 
or  leaving  the  house  on  Saturday?" 

"My  inquiries  have  been  limited  to  Miss  Wesner.'' 

"Aronson!" 

The  young  man  reappeared  as  before. 

"Make  thorough  inquiry  this  evening  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  the  Arnold  house,  rear  and  front,  for  a  stranger 
seen  loitering  about  the  premises  or  issuing  from  them 
on  Saturday  afternoon.'' 

"Yes,  Miss  Barlow,  I  have  a  theory/'  resumed  Shaga- 
rach,  turning  to  Emily  again.  He  folded  his  arms  and 
looked  at  her  steadfastly,  yet  as  though  his  gaze  were 
fixed  on  something  beyond. 

"I  see  your  lover's  photograph  in  your  eyes — mild 
blue  eyes,  but  touchstones  of  integrity,  hard  to  deceive. 
He  impresses  me  well.  His  story,  moreover,  bears  a 
somewhat  uncommon  voucher.  It  is  true  because  of  its 
improbability.  How  improbable  that  any  man  would 
refuse  a  gift  of  $10,000,000!  How  improbable  that  any 
man,  not  a  sleep-walker,  would  wander  through  the 
streets  of  a  city  without  any  record  of  his  sensuous  im- 
pressions !" 

"But " 

''The  improbability  of  the  story  demonstrates  its  truth. 
Men  lie,  women  lie,  children  lie.  Have  you  watched  a 
band  of  girls  playing  at  the  imitation  of  school?  How 
cunningly  the  teacher  feigns  anger,  the  pupils  naughti- 
ness and  sad  repentance.  Have  you  observed  the  plausi- 
bility in  the  inventions  of  toddling  babes  to  escape  im- 
minent chastisement?  Falsehood  is  a  normal  faculty  and 


60  THE   INCENDIARY. 

equipped  with  its  protective  armor,  plausibility.  Your 
friend's  story  is  too  preposterous  to  be  untrue." 

Emily  was  bewildered  by  these  rapid  paradoxes. 

"I  congratulate  you  upon  your  friendship  with  so  un- 
usual a  specimen  of  our  kind,  the  man  who  cannot  or 
will  not  lie.  But  I  should  not  like  to  present  his  defense 
on  such  grounds  to  twelve  of  his  fellow-creatures,  normal 
in  that  respect.  Fortunately  we  are  not  driven  to  that 
extreme  refuge. 

"The  material  for  a  theory  is  meager;  the  chain  shows 
many  gaps.  But  I  find  no  evidence  that  Floyd  attempted 
to  get  rid  of  the  servant,  Bertha.  A  child,  meditating  this 
crime,  would  not  have  neglected  so  obvious  a  precaution. 
Her  continued  absence  was  only  an  opportune  accident. 
Her  re-entrance  would  have  resulted  in  his  discovery. 
The  point  is  pivotal. 

"I  find  that  a  favorite  house  dog  was  left  in  the  room 
to  be  sacrificed — a  needless  cruelty  if  the  incendiary  were 
his  master,  a  necessary  precaution  if  he  were  a  stranger 
whose  actions  the  animal  would  have  understood  and 
whom  he  would  have  followed  to  the  street." 

"But  would  Sire  have  allowed  a  stranger  even  to  enter 
the  study?" 

"True;  but  between  strangers  and  friends  there  is  a 
middle  category  consisting  of  persons  whom  we  may  call 
acquaintances.  Into  these  three  degrees  we  are  divided 
by  dogkind.  It  was  not  a  stranger  or  he  would  have  been 
attacked.  He  had  no  friends  left  but  Bertha,  Ellen  and 
Floyd.  The  dog  was  drowsing  on  the  mat.  The  man 
who  entered  was  an  acquaintance. 

"Who  was  this  man?  We  have  a  few  items  of  his  de- 
scription. Some  one  known  to  the  dog,  familiar  with 
the  premises  and  interested  in  the  destruction  of  the  docu- 
ment of  which  that  house,  that  room  and  that  safe  were 
the  triple-barred  shrine.  An  expert  criminal  could  have 
destroyed  the  safe  without  detection,  but  the  incendiary 
was  an  amateur,  and  such  an  act  would  require  time. 
There  was  no  time,  not  an  instant.  The  executor  was  to 
arrive  that  afternoon.  McCausland  started  right.  The 
Harmon  building  was  destroyed  and  seven  lives  sac- 


THE   INCENDIARY.  61 

rificed  in  order  that  Benjamin  Arnold's  will  might  be 
irrevocably  canceled.  Who  benefited  by  its  destruction? 

"The  professor  had  desired  to  make  Robert  Floyd  his 
sole  heir,  in  other  words,  to  disinherit  Harry  Arnold !" 

Shagarach's  monologue  had  reached  its  climax.  The 
name  of  the  other  cousin  came  out  like  the  ring  of  a 
hammer.  He  waited,  as  if  yielding  Emily  an  opportunity 
to  object,  but  as  she  sat  passive  and  expectant,  he  went 
on,  his  arms  still  folded,  and  his  glowing  eyes  evincing 
deep  absorption  in  the  problem  he  was  elucidating. 

"Harry  Arnold  was  in  disfavor,  then.  The  drafting  of 
the  will  must  have  been  communicated  to  him,  but  proba- 
bly not  its  items.  The  mere  fact,  however,  was  ominous. 
It  might  mean  the  loss  of  a  fortune.  One  of  the  servants 
was  dressing  'uncommonly  rich'  of  late.  The  where- 
withal came  to  her  as  payment  for  conveying  to  Harry 
Arnold  all  she  could  pick  up  about  the  will.  It  may  not 
have  been  pleasant  news. 

"It  was  from  Mrs.  Arnold  McCausland  first  learned  of 
the  will.  It  was  Harry  Arnold  who  hastened  to  adver- 
tise a  reward  of  $5,000 — McCausland's  fee  if '' 

"As  to  the  fee,"  said  Emily. 

"I  understand;  the  legacy  of  $20,000  amply  protects 
me." 

Emily  was  uncertain  whether  or  not  Shagarach  meant 
to  demand  the  whole  $20,000  for  his  services. 

"I  find  that  the  flies  were  about  the  honey  pot.  Mrs. 
Arnold's  carriage  drove  up  about  3  o'clock.  The  execu- 
tor was  to  call  that  afternoon.  Revelation  could  not  be 
long  delayed.  The  plot  was  desperately  formed,  favored 
by  circumstance  and  executed  by  Harry  Arnold  and  his 
accomplices." 

"But  Harry  Arnold  has  been  ill,  Mr.  Shagarach." 

"The  name  of  his  physician?'' 

"I  believe,  Dr.  Whipple,  the  pathologist.  You  suspect 
Harry,  then,  of  the  crime?" 

"I  have  not  studied  him  yet.  This  is  only  an  alterna- 
tive theory.  You  see  how  easily  it  could  have  been  con- 
structed in  your  friend's  behalf. 

"Mungovan,  the  discharged  coachman,  has  not  yet 


62  THE    INCENDIARY. 

been  found.  The  strange  peddler  may  prove  a  confeder- 
ate. You  will  send  Bertha  to  me.  She  is  the  central  wit- 
ness. Is  Floyd  in  jail?" 

"Yes,"  said  Emily,  sadly;   "but  a  permit '' 

"I  shall  not  need  one.  I  am  his  counsel." 
Emily  descended  the  creaking  stairway  and  rode  home 
with  a  certain  new  elation,  such  as  we  sometimes  feel 
after  contact  with  some  electric  character,  some  grand 
reservoir  of  human  vitality.  Meyer  Shagarach  mean- 
while began  pacing  up  and  down,  occasionally  speaking 
to  himself  sotto  voce. 

A  criminal  lawyer,  but  with  the  head  of  an  imperial 
chancellor. 

What  was  known  of  this  rare  man's  history?  About 
thirty  years  before  he  was  born  in  a  small  town  on  the 
upper  Nile,  a  descendant  of  those  mighty  Jewish  families 
whose  expulsion  impoverished  Spain,  while  spreading  her 
tongue  throughout  the  orient,  even  beyond  the  Turco- 
man deserts  to  the  unvisited  cities  of.  Khiva  and  Merv. 
Languages  were  his  birthright,  as  naturally  and  almost 
as  numerously  as  the  digits  on  his  hands.  In  his  youth 
his  father  had  wandered  to  America — refuge  of  all  wild, 
strange  spirits  of  the  earth — and  died,  leaving  a  widow 
and  a  son.  The  boy  had  been  visionary,  unpractical — a 
white  blackbird  among  his  tribe.  For  years  he  had  strug- 
gled to  support  his  mother,  first  as  an  attorney's  drudge, 
then  as  a  scribbler.  There  was  no  market  for  his  wares. 
Then  by  a  sudden  wrench,  showing  the  vise-like  strength 
of  his  will,  he  had  burst  the  bubble  of  his  early  hopes  and 
chosen  for  his  profession  that  of  all  professions  which  re- 
quires the  most  thorough  subjection  of  the  sentiments. 
It  was  six  years  since  he  had  first  rented  the  obscure 
quarters  he  now  occupied,  the  same  where,  as  a  lad,  he 
had  sighed  away  many  hours  of  distasteful  toil. 

For  the  first  two  years  Shagarach's  face  showed  the 
desperation  of  his  fortunes.  His  own  people  shunned 
him  as  a  seceder  from  the  synagogue.  To  the  public  he 
was  still  unknown.  But  one  day  a  trivial  case  had 
matched  him  against  a  certain  eminent  pleader,  a  Goliath 
in  stature  and  in  skill.  The  end  of  the  day's  tourney  wit- 


THE    INCENDIARY.  63 

nessed  his  bulk  prostrated  before  the  undersized  scion  of 
the  house  of  David.  From  that  hour  the  dimensions  of 
his  fame  had  grown  apace.  Critics  noticed  an  occasional 
simplicity  in  everyday  matters,  just  as  a  gifted  foreigner 
who  has  become  eloquent  in  our  tongue  may  have  to 
ask  some  commonplace  native  for  a  word  now  and  then. 
Rivals  questioned  his  technical  learning,  who  had  little 
else  to  boast.  Yet  Shagarach's  knowledge,  practical  or 
legal,  was  always  found  adequate  to  his  cause.  Whether 
he  was  pedantically  profound  in  the  law  or  not  might  be 
an  open  question.  But  all  who  knew  him  at  all  knew  him 
for  a  Titan. 

The  man  appeared  to  be  lonely  by  nature.  Excepting 
the  young  assistant,  Aronson,  he  associated  no  colleague 
with  him,  carrying  all  the  details  of  his  growing  volume 
of  business  in  his  own  capacious  mind.  Other  men  made 
memoranda.  Shagarach  remembered.  What  he  might 
be  in  himself  none  knew;  yet  "all  things  to  all  men"  was 
a  motto  he  spurned.  Shagarach  was  Shagarach  to  judge 
or  scullion,  everywhere  masterful,  unruffled,  mysterious. 
Were  it  not  for  the  luminous  eyes  he  might  be  taken  for 
an  abstract  thinker.  These  orbs  supplied  the  magnetism 
to  rivet  crowds  and  suggested  a  seer  of  deep  soul-secrets 
(unknown  even  to  their  possessor),  dormant,  perhaps  sub- 
dued, but  not  annihilated,  under  the  exterior  equipment 
of  the  criminal  lawyer. 

Shagarach  often  colloqued  with  himself  as  he  was  do- 
ing now.  In  his  trials,  though  he  neither  badgered  wit- 
nesses nor  wrangled  with  opponents,  he  was  noted  for 
sotto-voce  comments,  sometimes  ironical,  that  seemed 
scarcely  conscious.  These  mannerisms  might  be  relics  of 
a  solitary  pre-existence,  in  which  the  habit  of  thinking 
aloud  had  been  formed. 

"Was  it  Arnold  or  Mungovan  who  touched  the 
match?"  He  continued  his  pacing  in  silence.  "Both 
knew  the  premises,  Mungovan  the  better  of  the  two." 

The  electric  street  lamp  shone  into  his  room  and  the 
footfalls  of  the  last  tenant,  receding  on  the  stairs,  had 
long  since  died  to  silence, 


64  THE    INCENDIARY. 

"I  will  study  Arnold,"  he  said,  finally,  buttoning  his 
coat,  as  if  the  problem  were  as  good  as  solved. 


CHAPTER  IX. 
THE    ROYSTERERS. 

"Get  the  mail,  Indigo." 

The  letters  made  a  goodly  heap  on  the  salver,  but 
Harry  Arnold  sifted  them  over  with  an  air  of  dissatisfac- 
tion. One  cream-colored  envelope,  superscribed  in  a 
dainty  hand,  he  laid  apart.  The  rest  -he  tore  open  and 
tossed  into  Indigo's  lap,  as  if  they  were  duns,  invitations 
and  other  such  formal  matters. 

"Drop  a  line  apiece  to  these  bores,"  he  said  to  his  valet, 
with  a  yawn.  Like  the  whole  tribe  of  the  unoccupied,  he 
was  too  busy  to  answer  letters. 

"Where's  Aladdin?" 

"Grazing  in  the  paddock." 

"Did  you  get  the  roses  for  Miss  March?" 

"Two  dozen  Marechal  Neils." 

"I  want  some  paper  for  a  note  to  go  with  them. 
Mother's  prompt,"  he  added,  opening  the  letter  he  had 
reserved,  while  Indigo  went  on  his  errand.  It  was  headed 
"Hillsborough,"  and  ran  as  follows: 

"Dear  Harry:  It  is  a  pleasure  to  be  in  our  old  summer  home 
again,  especially  after  the  trying  day  I  spent  in  that  court- 
room. The  orchards  are  no  longer  in  bloom,  and  the  pear  tree 
in  the  angle  (your  favorite),  which  was  just  a  great  pyramid 
of  snowy  blossoms  when  we  arrived  last  year,  is  now  budding 
with  fruit.  These  things  remind  me  how  late  the  season  has 
begun  this  year.  Do  not  prolong  it  too  far,  Harry,  dear.  I 
am  sure,  after  your  illness,  the  mere  sight  of  the  open  fields 
would  do  you  good.  Woodlawn  is  suburban,  but  it  is  not  real 
country.  Besides,  we  are  only  twenty  miles  out  and  you  could 
ride  in  town  in  an  hour  whenever  you  liked. 

"Be  assured  you  shall  have  the  money  for  your  club  ex- 
penses as  soon  as  I  can  collect  it.  But  property  has  its  embar- 
rassments, you  know;  and  we  may  be  rich  in  bonds  and  in- 
dentures, yet  lack  ready  pennies  at  times,  strange  as  it  may 


THE    INCENDIARY.  65 

seem  to  your  inexperience.  Do  not  worry,  dear.  In  your  pres- 
ent delicate  state  of  health  it  may  injure  you  more  than  I 
care  to  think.  The  very  next  time  I  come  to  town  you  shall 
have  what  you  desire.  But  I  make  my  own  terms.  You  must 
be  a  good  boy  and  come  to  Hillsborough  for  it.  Forgive  my 
writing  so  soon.  I  have  been  thinking  of  you,  and  it  surely 
cannot  displease  you  to  hear  once  more  how  dearly  you  are 
remembered,  wherever  she  goes,  by  your  loving  mother, 

"ALICE  BREWSTER  ARNOLD." 

"Once  more!  No,  nor  a  thousand  times  more!"  cried 
Harry.  "But  I  wish  she'd  come  down  sooner  with  the 
cash,"  he  added.  "What's  this?  Postscript?" 

"Your  friends,  the  Marches,  have  taken  their  cottage  in 
Lenox.  Possibly  this  may  hasten  your  coming  more  than  my 
entreaties." 

"Jealous  of  Rosalie,  already,"  laughed  Harry.  "Poor 
mother!  What,  another?'' 

"P.  S.  (Private) — It  would  be  wise,  Harry,  if  you  should  call 
upon  your  cousin.  A  visit  from  you  would  look  well  at  this 
time." 

"A  call  on  Rob?  Gad,  I  never  thought  of  that.  Give 
me  the  stationery,  Indigo." 

For  five  minutes  Harry  Arnold  was  alone,  writing  his 
prettiest  note  of  compliment  to  accompany  the  gift  of 
flowers  to  Miss  Rosalie  March.  He  had  just  moistened 
the  mucilage  when  there  came  a  ring  at  the  bell. 

"See  if  that's  the  fellows,  Indigo.  Look  through  the 
shutters." 

"It's  Kennedy,"  said  Indigo,  twisting  his  neck  and  eyes 
so  as  to  get  a  slanting  view  of  the  callers. 

"Who  else?" 

"Idler  and  Sunburst." 

"Let  them  up." 

"Well,  Harry,''  cried  the  first  of  the  three  bloods,  ex- 
tending a  hand,  "what's  the  tempo  of  your  song  this 
morning?" 

"Allegro,  vivace,  vivacissimo,  Idler.  Convalescing; 
doctor  says  I  may  go  out;  mother  agreeable;  medicine 
chest  thrown  to  the  dogs.  Have  a  pill ;  only  a  few  more 
left." 

"Hello !"  cried  the  fragile  youth  who  had  entered  last. 
"Miss  Rosalie  March!"  He  picked  up  the  envelope 


66  THE   INCENDIARY. 

which  Harry  had  laid  down.  "Sits  the  wind  in  that  quar- 
ter still,  Horatio?'" 

"The  actress,  Harry?"  cried  a  second  of  the  trio. 

"What  actress,  you  booby?  Miss  March  isn't  an 
actress." 

"Nevertheless,  she  occasionally  acts,"  retorted  Sun- 
burst. His  yellow  beard  entitled  him  to  this  alias. 

"Just  the  opposite,  then,  of  her  brother,  Tristram," 
said  the  tall,  sallow  youth  addressed  as  Idler.  "He  is  a 
sculptor,  but  he  never  sculps.  Did  you  see  his  alto-re- 
lievo of  a  Druid's  head  in  the  Art  club?  Capital  study. 
Why  in  the  deuce  doesn't  he  work?" 

"If  he  did  he  might  get  his  goods  on  the  market,"  said 
Kennedy. 

"Out  on  you  for  a  Philistine,  a  dunderhead!"  cried 
Harry.  "Do  you  confound  genius  with  salability?  Idler 
could  correct  you  on  that  point.  You  remember  his 
satire  on  'The  Religious  Significance  of  Umbrellas  in 
China?'  Was  anything  ever  more  daringly  conceived, 
more  wittily  executed,  more — but  I  spare  the  shades 
of  Addison  and  Lamb.  And  how  much  did  it  fetch  him? 
A  paltry  $15." 

Idler  was  the  only  one  of  these  well-born  good-for- 
naughts  who  ever  turned  his  gifts  to  use.  Sketches  over 
the  sobriquet  by  which  he  was  known  to  his  friends  occa- 
sionally appeared  in  the  lighter  magazines. 

"But  my  'New  Broom'  made  a  clean  sweep,  Harry," 
he  protested. 

"Murder,"  groaned  Harry.  "He  had  that  in  for  us. 
A  prepared  joke  is  detestable.  It's  like  bottled  spring 
water." 

"Hang  spring  water!"  said  Idler.  "Hang  water  any- 
way!" 

"Indigo/'  cried  Harry,  jumping  at  the  hint,  "fetch  us 
some  very  weak  whey  from  the  spa.  Let's  'have  a  real  old 
high  jinks  of  a  slambang  bust  to  celebrate  my  convales- 
cence. Hello!  What's  that?" 

The  wild  wail  of  a  bagpipe  smote  the  air  and  the  four 
boon  companions  rushed  to  the  window. 

"Have  him  in!" 


THE   INCENDIARY.  67 

"Yoho!" 

"Here,  Sawnie!" 

"He's  coming." 

Indigo  and  the  piper  entered  from  opposite  doors  at 
about  the  same  time,  the  former  fetching  the  "whey," 
which  had  a  suspiciously  reddish  hue  and  was  served  in 
narrow  bottles,  the  latter  arrayed  in  all  the  bravery  of  his 
plaids,  with  a  little  boy  by  his  side  in  similar  costume. 

"Hit  her  up,  Sawnie,"  cried  Kennedy. 

"Let  him  wet  his  whistle  first,"  said  the  Sunburst. 

"And  here's  a  handsel  to  cross  his  palm,"  added  Harry, 
passing  the  piper  something  invisible.  The  minstrel 
pocketed  it  with  an  awkward  bow  and  drank  down  the 
proffered  "whey"'  at  one  gulp. 

"I'll  be  reminding  you,  gentlemen,"  he  said  in  "braid 
Scots,"  "lest  ye  labor  under  a  misapprehension  of  my 
cognomen,  that  my  name  is  not  Sawnie,  but  Duncan  Mc- 
Kenzie  Logan,  and  this  is  my  wee  bairn,  Archibald 
Campbell  of  that  ilk.  We're  half-lowland,  as  ye  doubt- 
less know,  the  Logans  being  a  border  clan." 

"Why  don't  you  make  the  youngster  blow  the  bel- 
lows?" cried  Idler.  "The  organ-player  never  does  the 
pumping." 

"I'm  no  organ-player,  if  you  please.  'Tis  the  hieland 
pipes  I  play,  and  there's  no  blowing  the  bellows  except 
with  my  ain  mouth.  But  the  laddie  dances  prettily. 
Show  your  steps,  Archie.  Show  the  gentlemen  a  fling. 
Ainblins  they've  never  seen  the  like  of  it  before." 

Archie  was  as  highland  as  his  father  in  rig,  from  his 
jaunty  feathered  bonnet  to  the  kilt  just  reaching  below 
his  bare,  brown  knees.  His  firm  boyish  face  had  a 
Scotch  prettiness  in  it,  nothing  effeminate,  yet  sweet  to 
look  at,  and  he  went  through  the  steps  of  the  highland 
fling  gracefully,  one  hand  on  hip,  the  other  over  his  head, 
reversing  them  now  and  then,  and  occasionally  spinning 
around,  while  the  piper  struck  up  "Roy's  Wife."  The 
conclusion  was  greeted  with  a  burst  of  applause. 

"Can't  we  dance  to  that  tune,  boys?"  shouted  Harry, 
seizing  Kennedy  around  the  waist.  "Choose  your  part- 
ners. Give  us  a  Tarantella." 


68  THE    INCENDIARY. 

"There's  nae  such  tune  in  the  hielands,"  said  the  piper, 
gravely. 

"Well,  the  skirt  dance  will  do.  Hit  her  up  and  I'll 
make  you  a  present  big  enough  to  buy  all  your  aunts 
and  cousins  porridge  for  a  fortnight." 

"There's  nae  skeert  dance  known  to  my  pipes,"  said 
the  highlander,  shaking  his  head.  "Dinna  ye  mean  the 
sword  dance?" 

"Try  'Highland  Laddi'e/"  suggested  Idler,  hitting  up 
a  lively  jig  on  the  piano.  The  piper  fell  in  and  soon  was 
pacing  up  and  down  the  room,  red  in  the  face  from  his 
exertions,  while  the  four  merrymakers  capered,  kicked 
and  skipped,  with  all  sorts  of  offhand  juvenilities.  Harry, 
though  the  tallest  present,  was  graceful  as  a  girl. 

"Hold  up,  fellows,"  cried  the  Sunburst,  at  last,  puffing 
audibly.  But  the  piper  continued  pacing  up  and  down, 
forgetting  everything  in  the  furore  of  his  enthusiasm  ex- 
cept the  moaning  and  shrieking  of  his  instrument. 

"Hold  up,  I  say.  Shut  off  your  infernal  drone.  We 
can't  hear  ourselves  think." 

"  'Tis  the  wind  wailing  on  Craig-Ellachie  I  hear,"  said 
he  of  the  Caledonian  names. 

"I  think  it's  delirium  tremens.  Take  a  nip  of  the  whey. 
That'll  cure  you.  Here,  Indigo,  tap  the  geyser  again  for 
Sawnie." 

Logan  was  not  the  man  to  set  up  frivolous  punctilios 
against  such  an  order  as  Idler's, 

"There's  medicine  for  the  inner  mon,"  he  said,  smack- 
ing his  lips  with  gusto. 

"Medicinal,  eh?  If  you  happen  to  take  an  overdose 
it's  a  medicinal  spree,  I  suppose.'' 

"I  say,  isn't  tomorrow  the  Fourth?''  cried  Sunburst. 
"Play  something  patriotic,  Sawnie,  'Hull's  Victory,'  or 
'Lady  Washington's  Reel.' " 

"There's  nane  o'  them  known  to  me  or  my  instrument," 
said  the  minstrel.  "It's  a  Scotch  pipe  and  will  play  nane 
but  the  auld  tunes  of  Scotland." 

"Scotland!     What's  Scotland?"  asked  Idler. 

"Wha — can  it  be  ye  never  heard  tell  o'  bonnie  Scot- 
land?" gasped  the  highlander,  who  was  nearing  the  con- 


THE   INCENDIARY.  69 

dition  which  Idler  had  described  as  a  "medicinal  spree." 

"What  is  it,  a  man  or  a  place?  Did  you  ever  meet  the 
name  before,  fellows?" 

All  three  solemnly  shook  their  heads,  whereat  the  Cale- 
donian's jaw  dropped  in  amazement. 

"Wull,  wull,  I  knew  'twas  a  most  barbarous  country  I 
entered,  but  I'd  thought  the  least  enlightened  peoples  of 
the  airth  had  heard  of  the  glory  and  the  celebrity  of  bon- 
nie  Scotland." 

"Bonnie  Scotland?     Is  Bonnie  his  first  name?" 

"Why,  'tis  the  country  o'  Scotland,  I  mean." 

"Oh,  I  know,"  interposed  Harry;  "that  little,  barren, 
outlying  province  somewhere  to  the  north  of  England." 

"Oh,  that!"  cried  the  others,  in  contemptuous  chorus. 

"Where  the  coast  line  gets  ragged,  like  an  old  beggar's 
coat,"  said  Idler. 

"And  the  people  live  on  haggis  and  finnan  haddie," 
added  Kennedy. 

"They  are  mostly  exiles  of  Erin  that  have  drifted  back 
into  barbarism,"  cried  the  Sunburst. 

"Yes,  that's  the  place,"  said  Harry.  "I've  heard  travel- 
ers tell  of  it.  I  believe  it's  put  down  in  the  latest  gazet- 
teer." 

Poor  Logan  looked  like  a  stifling  man,  but  before  he 
could  launch  his  reply  the  long-drawn  tones  of  a  rival 
troubadour  invaded  the  apartment.  Once  more  the  four 
roysterers  rushed  to  the  window. 

"It's  a  dago!" 

*Ahoy!"   they  signaled,  waving  their  hands. 

"Open  the  door  for  him,  Indigo,"   cried  Harry. 

"Did  you  ever  hear  tell  o'  such  savages,  Archie?"  whis- 
pered the  piper  to  his  son ;  "that  had  no  enlightenment  on 
the  name  o'  bonnie  Scotland,  which  is  famous  wherever 
valor  and  minstrelsy  are  honored." 

"They  maun  be  jestin',  daddy." 

"Jestin'?    Tut,  tut!    Whaur's  the  jest?" 

"Presto  bellisimo,  Paganini,"  cried  the  four  youths, 
each  rushing  to  the  door  and  welcoming  the  organ- 
grinder,  with  a  warm  shake-hands.  The  Italian  smiled 


70  THE    INCENDIARY. 

profusely  and  doffed  his  cap,  his  monkey  climbing  to  the 
organ  top  and  imitating  him  in  every  gesture. 

"Tune  up  your  bagpipes,  Sawnie,"  cried  Harry.  "We 
are  going  to  have  a  tournament.  Take  a  smell,  Paga- 
nini?" 

"Noa,"  answered  the  Italian,  shaking  his  head,  "noa 
drink — a." 

"Then  you're  a  bigger  fool  than  you  look,"  cried  Idler, 
stumbling  tipsily.  "(Hie)  I'm  losing  control  of  my 
curves." 

"What  tunes  have  you  got  in  that  box?"  asked  Harry 
of  the  organ-grinder,  while  Logan  eyed  him  grimly  with 
a  look  of  scorn. 

"What-a  sing-a?     'AnniRuni.'" 

"That  will  do.  Grind  away.  Hold  on.  Get  a  full 
breath,  Sawnie.  Now  for  a  medley." 

The  organ-grinder  began  turning  his  crank,  but  the 
Scotchman  sulked  in  the  corner. 

"Stop  there,  Paganini.     False  start.     Try  again." 

"I'll  accompany  nae  uncivilized  barrel-box,  that's  only 
fit  to  dandle  idiot  bairns  wi'." 

"What  are  you  talking  about?"  cried  Idler.  "Uncivil- 
ized! You  wildman  of  the  hills!  A  red  outlaw  in  his 
war  paint  couldn't  look  and  act  more  outlandish  than 
you  do." 

"Smooth  him  down,  Harry,"  cried  Sunburst.  "Here, 
Sawnie,  how  much  will  you  take  for  your  pipes?" 

"Enough  to  buy  me  them  back  again,"  answered  the 
Scotchman,  cannily,  "and  a  bonus  for  the  time  o'  their 
privation." 

"You'll  do,"  said  Idler. 

"Have  another  nip  of  the  whey  and  let's  hear  you 
drown  the  dago,"  whispered  Harry,  confidentially,  pat- 
ting Logan  on  the  back. 

"Drown  him?     Twad  na  tak'  a  big  puddle  to  do  that." 

"Of  course  not.  But  he's  vain  enough  to  think  just 
the  opposite.  A  good  swig!  Start  her  up  now." 

Idler  drummed  on  the  piano  a  few  bars  of  "Scots  Wha 
Ha'e,"  which  set  the  piper  marching  and  stamping  again. 
At  a  nod  from  Harry  the  bowing  Italian  resumed  his 


THE   INCENDIARY.  71 

tune,  and  when  the  four  carousers  took  hands  in  a  circle 
and  began  chanting  "Should  Auld  Acquaintance  Be  For- 
got," the  air  was  infernal  with  discord. 

"Faster!  Faster!"  cried  Harry.  The  Scotchman 
pranced  in  his  industrious  ecstasy,  while  the  Italian  put 
both  hands  to  the  organ-crank  and  turned  for  all  that  was 
in  him. 

"Oh,  a  smile  for  my  Rosalie!"  shouted  Kennedy,  ma- 
liciously, changing  the  air. 

"None  of  that!"  cried  Harry,  barely  making  his  voice 
heard  above  the  din.  The  little  boy  sitting  in  one  cor- 
ner had  clapped  both  palms  over  his  ears,  and  the  mon- 
key, watching  his  gesture,  gravely  climbed  up  and 
perched  beside  him,  doing  likewise. 

"A  kiss  for  my  Rosalie,"  roared  Kennedy,  tantalizing 
his  host.  Half-angry,  Harry  caught  up  a  wine  bottle 
from  the  tray  and  pointed  it  at  his  tormentor. 

"Pop !"  the  cork  flew  out  and  Kennedy  put  his  hand  to 
his  eye  with  an  exclamation  of  pain. 

"Hello!     What  have  I  done?"  cried  Harry. 

"Didn't  know  it  was  loaded,"  jeered  Idler.  But  the 
concert  had  stopped,  and  when  Kennedy  uncovered  his 
eye  there  was  a  blue  sw'elling  already  under  the  lid. 

"A  surgeon!"  cried  Sunburst.  "Amputate  his  head. 
It  is  the  only  hope  of  saving  the  eye." 

"What's  good  for  a  black  eye?"  asked  Harry,  less  un- 
feelingly than  the  others. 

"Black  the  other  for  symmetry,"   cried  Sunburst. 

"Get  some  beefsteak,  Indigo,"  said  Harry. 

"Kill  the  Jersey  cow,  Indigo,  and  cut  off  a  sirloin," 
mocked  Idler,  who  was  half-geas  over  now.  Meanwhile 
the  Scotchman  and  the  Italian,  counting  their  emolu- 
ments, had  folded  their  instruments  and  silently  stolen 
away ;  while  Sunburst,  apparently  as  porous  as  a  sponge, 
calmly  and  steadily  put  the  bottle  Harry  had  popped  to 
his  lips  and  drained  it  to  the  dregs. 


72  THE   INCENDIARY. 


CHAPTER  X. 

APPEARANCES  AND  DISAPPEARANCES. 

"Now  for  Sir  Galahad  in  jail!"  said  Harry,  touching 
the  bay  with  the  point  of  his  whip. 

"He  was  an  awfully  virtuous  cad!"  laughed  Kennedy. 
Sunburst  had  offered  to  convey  Idler  safely  home,  while 
Kennedy,  the  black-eyed,  accompanied  Harry,  himself 
none  the  better  for  his  morning  bottle-bout,  to  the  club- 
house in  town.  On  the  way  they  would  make  the  visit  to 
Robert. 

There  was  evidently  a  strong  dash  of  the  Arnold  blood 
in  Harry.  He  showed  more  resemblance  to  his  cousin 
than  to  the  proud,  thin-lipped  woman  who  had  sat 
through  Floyd's  preliminary  trial. '  A  stranger  might 
even  confuse  them  at  the  first  glance,  though  Harry  was 
five  years  the  older  of  the  two.  It  could  not  be  gainsaid 
that  he  bore  his  age  well.  His  movements  were  leopard- 
like  in  their  swiftness  and  ease  and  his  eyes  shone  with 
mesmeric  power.  The  little  darkn'ess  under  their  lids 
might  be  a  peculiarity  of  complexion,  but  occasionally, 
in  moments  of  repose,  a  shadow,  no  more,  seemed  to 
cross  the  cheek  and  make  it  look  worn.  His  compan- 
ions had  noticed  that  the  cue-point  wavered  a  trifle  in 
his  hands  of  late  and  that  his  masse  shots  sometimes 
failed  to  draw  the  balls.  But  he  was  still  facile  princeps 
among  gentlemen  boxers  of  the  city;  and  his  long,  brown 
arms  were  a  delight  to  watch  on  the  river,  crossing  and 
recrossing  in  the  graceful  rhythm  of  the  practiced  oars- 
man. 

Arnold's  true  nature  was  'hard  to  judge,  for  circum- 
stances had  conspired  to  spoil  him  from  the  cradle.  A 
comely  child,  he  had  been  allowed  to  carry  the  knicker- 
bocker  period  of  tossing  curls  and  gratified  whims  far 
into  his  teens,  and  the  discovery  that  her  darling  was  a 


THE  INCENDIARY.  73 

man,  and  no  longer  a  painted  picture  to  be  gazed  at  and 
displayed,  had  come  upon  his  mother  suddenly,  like  an 
unforeseen  catastrophe.  It  had  cost  her  many  a  pang 
to  realize  that  she,  who  aspired  to  be  sole  mistress  of  his 
heart,  shared  now  only  a  divided  affection  with  a  score  of 
alien  interests.  Still  she  continued  to  indulge  and  an- 
ticipate his  desires.  They  were  rich  and  social  station 
was  her  birthright.  But  it  was  with  a  jealous  gnawing  in 
her  heart  that  she  would  sign  the  check  for  his  new 
pleasure  yacht  or  watch  him  pat  the  neck  of  his  steeple- 
chaser Aladdin. 

The  dislike  she  bore  to  Robert  Floyd  was  a  natural 
consequence  of  his  uncle's  partiality.  The  families  were 
outwardly  upon  good  terms.  If  early  influence  counts, 
there  could  not  well  be  much  similarity  of  taste  between 
the  youth  whose  steps  had  been  guided  by  the  virile  head 
of  Benjamin  Arnold  and  the  idol  of  that  indulgent,  world- 
ly mother  who  never  forgot  that  she  belonged  to  the 
Brewsters  of  Lynn. 

"Hold  her  ten  minutes,"  said  Harry,  giving  the  reins 
to  Kennedy  at  the  outer  gate  of  the  jail.  His  name  was 
a  sufficient  passport  to  the  officer  who  guarded  the  outer 
turnstile,  and  he  was  directed  across  a  bricked  yard  to 
the  jail  building  proper.  Here  a  more  detailed  explana- 
tion was  exacted.  Harry  answered  the  questions  suavely 
but  not  without  some  suppressed  impatience.  A  few 
moments  of  delay,  which  he  beguiled  with  an  incessant 
finger-tattoo,  and  he  was  conducted  to  murderers'  row. 

"This  isn't  much  like  home,  Rob,"  was  his  greeting, 
fortified  by  a  hand  extended  through  the  cell  bars.  Floyd 
pressed  it  somewhat  coldly. 

"I'm  grateful  for  the  visit,  Harry,"  he  said. 

"I  was  deucedly  down  with  malaria  when  uncle  died, 
you  know.'' 

"I  was  sorry  to  hear  that  from  your  mother." 

"Yes,  might  have  come  around  to  the  trial,  I  suppose ; 
but  mother  wouldn't  have  it.  You  understand  how  she 
feels.  Besides,  what  good  could  I  do?"  • 

"You  are  better  now?" 

"Awoke  this  morning  as  fresh  as  a  new-born  babe. 


74  THE   INCENDIARY. 

Going  down  to  play  with  the  foils  awhile.  Can't  stop 
long." 

Was  it  the  glow  of  convalescence  or  of  wine  that  shone 
in  Harry's  face?  H'e  made  one  or  two  imaginary  passes 
with  his  cane,  regardless  of  the  feelings  of  the  prisoner, 
to  whom  such  a  picture  of  prospective  enjoyment  could 
hardly  be  soothing. 

"But  I  say,  Rob,"  he  cried,  apparently  remembering 
himself,  "this  is  hard  on  you.  What  do  you  think  of  it 
all?" 

Floyd  eyed  his  cousin,  as  if  the  appropriate  answer 
were  not  easy  to  find. 

"It  is  hard,"  he  replied. 

"What  would  Uncle  Ben  say  if  he  were  alive?" 

"Uncle  Benjamin  would  be  the  first  to  proclaim  my 
innocence,"  said  Robert,  his  voice  vibrant  with  emotion. 

"To  tell  the  truth,  Rob,  I  don't  know  whether  to  be 
sorry  his  old  scrawl's  canceled  or  not.  I  had  my  doubts 
how  I  fared  at  Uncle  Ben's  hands.  Mother  said  my  half 
was  hunky,  but  you  know  uncle  hadn't  that  respect  for 
my  precious  person  she  has."  Harry's  laugh  showed  that 
he  was  well  aware  of  his  mother's  weakness  in  that  re- 
gard. "How  was  it?  Do  you  know?  Did  the  old  gen- 
tleman forget  me?" 

"I  believe  we.  were  treated  nearly  alike,"  answered 
Robert. 

"Gad,  then  I  owe  you  $5,000,000 " 

"Did  you  come  here  to  insult  me?" 

At  this  outburst  of  indignation  the  sheriff's  deputy 
drew  near. 

"That  was  nothing,  Rob,"  said  Harry,  sobering  up. 
"Only  my  cursed  thoughtlessness.  I'm  sorry,  on  my 
word,  you've  got  into  the  fix." 

"Carry  your  condolences  somewhere  else." 

"Oh,  well " 

"I  was  always  literal  and  I  mean  now  what  I  say.  Your 
apology  only  makes  the  matter  worse." 

There  is  nothing  more  subversive  of  dignity  than  an 
unpremeditated  sneeze.  Not  that  Saul  Aronson  had 
much  dignity  to  spare.  On  the  contrary,  he  was  an  ex- 


THE   INCENDIARY.  75 

tremely  modest  young  man,  with  apparently  one  great 
passion  in  his  life,  the  service  of  Shagarach.  On  this  oc- 
casion his  resounding  ker-choo  proclaimed  from  afar  the 
arrival  of  that  personage  and  threw  a  ridiculous  damper 
on  the  rising  temper  of  the  cousins.  Seeing  the  two 
strangers  approach,  Harry  fumbled  out  a  farewell  and 
withdrew  with  an  air  of  languid  bravado.  Shagarach 
watched  him  as  he  passed. 

"Follow  that  young  man  for  a  few  hours,"  he  said  to 
Aronson.  "I  should  like  to  know  his  afternoon  pro- 
gramme." 

Aronson  hung  on  his  master's  lips  and  trotted  off  to 
obey  his  command. 

"1  am  Shagarach,  come  to  defend  you,"  he  said  to  the 
prisoner,  still  flushed  with  the  remembrance  of  the  quar- 
rel. 

"Who  sent  you  to  defend  me?"  was  the  curt  reply. 

"Your  friend,  Miss  Barlow." 

"Emily?" 

Robert's  voice  grew  softer. 

"I  have  some  questions  to  ask  you." 

"What  have  I  done  to  be  questioned  as  if  I  were  a  cut- 
throat? What  have  I  done  to  be  jailed  here  like  some 
wild  beast,  before  whom  life  would  not  be  safe  if  he  were 
let  at  large?" 

"I  know  you  are  innocent,  Floyd." 

Only  the  falsely  accused  can  tell  how  the  first  assur- 
ance of  trust  from  another  revives  hope  and  faith  in  their 
kind.  Robert  Floyd  was  no  man  to  lean  on  strangers, 
yet  Shagarach's  words  were  as  soothing  to  him  as  a  gen- 
tle hand  laid  on  a  feverish  forehead. 

"Your  cousin  Harry  came  here  to  verify  his  knowledge 
of  the  will,  which  disinherited  him,  did  he  not?" 

"Harry  was  disinherited,  that  is  true." 

"How  came  you  to  give  up  the  profession  of  botanist, 
in  which  your  uncle  trained  you?" 

"Men  interest  me  more  than  vegetables." 

"But  you  refused  your  uncle's  wealth,  that  would  have 
given  you  power  among  men." 


76  THE   INCENDIARY. 

"It  was  not  mine.  I  had  not  earned  it.  I  feared  the 
temptation." 

"You  are  a  journalist,  I  believe?'' 

"Six  months  ago  I  happened  to  report  a  conference  of 
charities  for  the  Beacon.  Today  I  am  eking  out  my  in- 
come by  occasional  work  for  that  paper." 

Shagarach  thought  of  his  own  first  brief.  A  youth, 
imperfectly  acquainted  with  English,  was  charged  with 
the  larceny  of  an  overcoat  from  his  fellow-lodger.  Some- 
thing about  him  enlisted  the  sympathy  of  a  kind-hearted 
lady  who  drew  Shagarach  into  the  case  because  of  his 
knowledge  of  the  Hebrew  jargon  which  the  prisoner 
spoke.  The  youth  was  acquitted  and  was  now  a  stu- 
dent of  law,  being  no  other  than  Shagarach's  assistant 
and  idolator,  Aronson.  That  was  years  ago.  Today 
hundreds  flocked  to  hear  his  pleading  of  a  cause,  judges 
leaned  over  alertly,  as  if  learning  their  duty  from  him, 
and  the  very  hangers-on  of  the  courtroom  acquired  a 
larger  view  of  the  moral  law  when  Shagarach  expounded 
it. 

"My  own  beginnings  were  as  humble,"  he  said. 

"You  are  a  criminal  lawyer  by  choice,  people  say." 

"The  moral  alternative  of  innocence  or  guilt,  of  liberty 
or  imprisonment — sometimes,  as  now,  of  life  or  death — 
exalts  a  cause  in  my  eyes  far  above  any  elevation  to 
which  mere  financial  litigation  can  attain." 

Robert  looked  his  visitor  over  thoughtfully.  The 
criminal  lawyer  was  not  reputed  the  highest  grade  of  the 
guild.  But  there  was  a  sneer,  too,  in  many  quarters  for 
the  journalist.  H'e,  too,  must  mingle  in  the  reek  of 
cities,  share  Lazarus'  crust  and  drink  from  the  same  cup 
with  the  children  of  the  slums. 

"And  you  have  risen  to  the  defense  of  murderers,"  he 
said. 

"Men  accused  of  murder,"  answered  Shagarach. 

"You  are  reputed  to  be  uniformly  successful." 

"That  is  no  miracle.  My  clients  are  uniformly  inno- 
cent. My  first  step  is  to  satisfy  myself  of  that." 

"When  were  you  first  satisfied  of  my  innocence?" 

"When  I  saw  you  here." 


THE   INCENDIARY.  77 

"I  am  to  be  removed  to  the  state  prison  while  the  jail 
is  repaired,"  said  Robert,  who  had  indulged  dreams  of 
some  powerful  intervention  which  should  procure  his  re- 
lease. "How  long  before  a  final  hearing  will  be  given 
me?" 

"Two  months  at  most  The  evidence  against  your 
cousin  is  growing  rapidly  under  my  hands.'' 

"It  was  'evidence'  that  brought  me  here.  Is  your 
'evidence'  against  Harry  no  more  valuable?" 

"I  am  not  prosecuting  Harry  Arnold,  but  every  item 
that  points  to  his  guilt  guides  the  finger  of  suspicion 
away  from  you." 

Shagarach  was  satisfied  with  his  interview.  He  had 
elicited  proof  to  his  own  mind  of  Robert's  innocence  and 
legal  evidence  of  Harry's  disinheritance  under  the  will. 
To  fasten  knowledge  of  the  fact  upon  the  cousin  would 
now  be  an  easier  task. 

"Miss  Barlow  will  be  permitted  to  see  you,"  was  his 
parting  assurance  to  the  prisoner  before  he  hurriedly 
returned  to  his  office,  to  find  an  unexpected  client  await- 
ing him. 

John  Davidson,  the  marshal,  had  a  friendly  habit,  the 
legacy  of  a  country  bringing-up,  which  his  acquaintances 
found  both  useful  and  agreeable.  Our  tired  Emily, 
trudging  to  Shagarach's  with  the  heavy  message  of  a 
day's  failure,  must  have  agreed  with  them  heartily.  At 
least,  she  did  not  decline  his  invitation  when  the  kindly 
old  gentleman  drove  up  behind  her  and  urged  her  to 
share  his  seat  in  the  carriage. 

"I  am  bringing  him  some  evidence  now,"  said  Emily 
in  answer  to  the  marshal's  first  question,  after  he  had 
settled  her  according  to  his  liberal  ideas  of  comfort  and 
clucked  his  horse  to  a  gentle  trot. 

"Evidence — no  need  of  evidence,  miss.  If  Shagarach 
has  your  case,  that  will  be  prima-facie  evidence  in  itself 
of  your  sweetheart's  innocence." 

"He  is  a  wonderful  man.     But  do  people  like  him?" 

"Like  him?  Well,  'like'  is  a  medium  word,  you  see, 
used  for  medium  people.  He's  a  good  deal  of  a  sphinx 
to  us  all,  my  dear.  But  aren't  you  a  brave  girl  to  be 


78  THE   INCENDIARY. 

tramping  the  streets  for  your  sweetheart?  Don't  mind 
being  called  sweethearts,  I  hop'e?  That  was  the  old- 
country  word  when  I  courted  Elizabeth.  But  I  believe 
young  folks  now  call  it  fiancee,  inamorata — French  words 
and  Italian,  as  though  they  were  ashamed  to  sp'eak  it  out 
in  good  old  English." 

"Oh,  we  prefer  sweethearts  a  hundred  times.  But  I 
see  Mr.  Shagarach's  sign." 

The  marshal  handed  her  out  with  old-fashioned  gal- 
lantry, threw  his  horse's  head-weight  on  the  curbstone 
and  accompanied  her  upstairs.  Neither  Aronson,  nor 
Jacob,  the  office  boy,  answered  his  knock,  but  a  throaty 
falsetto,  somewhat  the  worse  for  wear,  was  intoning  an 
evangelical  hymn  within.  Strange  quavers  ad  libitum 
and  a  constant  beating  of  the  foot,  occasionally  height- 
ened to  a  break-down  stamp,  intermingled  with  the  air. 
It  was  only  by  giving  a  rap  with  his  whole  clenched  hand 
that  the  marshal  was  able  to  arouse  the  attention  of  this 
musical  inmate. 

"Evenin',  Mr.  Davidson.     Keepin'  house,  you  see." 

"Good  evening,  Jupiter."  Then  to  Emily:  "This  is 
Pineapple  Jupiter." 

"Cullud  gospel-preacher,  missus.  Belong  to  the  mis- 
sion upstairs.  Buy  a  mission  paper,  missus?'' 

His  complexion  was  as  black  as  a  coal  shovel,  but 
everything  artificial  about  him  made  the  antithesis  of  the 
swan  to  the  raven.  His  suit  was  of  bleached  linen,  his 
shirt  bosom,  choker  and  spotless  cravat,  all  the  color  of 
snow.  Even  his  wool  was  wintry  and  the  rolling  eyes 
and  brilliant  teeth  gave  his  ensemble  the  effect  of  a  pen- 
and-ink  sketch,  or  one  of  those  black-and-white  gro- 
tesques that  recently  captured  a  passing  vogue. 

"When  will  Shagarach  return?"  asked  Davidson,  but 
a  light  step  on  the  stairs,  which  Emily  knew  to  be  his, 
rendered  an  answer  needless.  The  lawyer  bowed  with 
his  usual  stateliness  and  ushered  them  in. 

"Remain  outside  till  Jacob  comes,  Jupiter,"  he  said. 
The  negro  salaamed  deferentially. 

"As  a  result  of  today's  inquiries,"  Shagarach  folded  his 
arms,  "two  desirable  witnesses  are  missing.  The  ped- 


THE   INCENDIARY.  79 

dler,  as  I  surmised,  is  not  a  peddler;  and  the  incendiary, 
who  could  assist  us  materially  in  our  researches,  still  re- 
mains in  the  Arnold  mansion." 

Emily's  face  was  puzzled  at  this  enigmatic  opening. 

"That  is  to  say,  he  was  not  seen  by  any  one  coming 
out.  I  believe,  however,  that  he  succeeded  in  getting 
away  unobserved,  as  I  think  I  had  the  pleasure  of  meet- 
ing him  this  afternoon." 

"The  incendiary?''  cried  Emily,  and  the  marshal  echoed 
her. 

"At  the  county  jail." 

Emily's  heart  fluttered.  Had  Shagarach  become  a 
convert  to  the  belief  in  Robert's  guilt?  And  if  so? 

"You  know  Harry  Arnold?"  he  asked. 

"I  have  never  met  him."  She  colored  a  little,  for  she 
was  not  descended  from  the  Brewsters  of  Lynn.  "But 
it  seems  to  me  your  argument  against  him  is  inferential, 
Mr.  Shagarach."  Twenty  times  she  had  gone  over  it  on 
her  pillow  the  night  before. 

"Were  the  a  priori  case  against  Mr.  Floyd  as  strong, 
you  would  have  more  reason  than  you  have  to  be  appre- 
hensive, Miss  Barlow,"  said  Shagarach,  in  that  ringing 
tone  of  his,  from  which  all  the  sap  of  emotion  seemed 
purposely  wrung  out,  leaving  only  a  residuum  of  dry 
logic. 

Immediately  he  began  writing  a  letter,  as  if  to  terminate 
the  interview,  and  John  Davidson  reached  for  his  hat, 
casting  a  glance  down  at  his  carriage  in  the  street  Then 
with  an  effort  Emily  unburdened  herself  of  the  por- 
tentous message  which  she  had  come  to  deliver. 

"I  have  done  my  best,"  she  said.  "But  Bertha  Lund 
is  not  to  be  found." 


CHAPTER  XL 

A  KISS  IN  THE  DARK. 


Bertha  Lund's  aunt,  Mrs.  Christenson,  kept  a  board- 
ing house  for  Swedes,  on  a  street  near  the  water  front. 
By  virtue  of  an  intelligence-office  license  she  was  also 


80  THE    INCENDIARY. 

empowered  to  obtain  places  in  domestic  service  for  newly 
imported  Frederikas  and  Katherinkas.  But  the  Swedish 
housemaid  is  one  of  those  rare  commodities  in  which  the 
demand  exceeds  the  supply.  So  there  had  been  no 
crowded  gallery  of  sodden  faces  around  the  waiting-room 
when  Emily  called  Thursday  morning  before  going  to 
work,  but  only  two  or  three  laughing  maidens  who 
chatted  with  the  boarders.  All  had  the  bloom  of  a  win- 
ter apple  in  their  cheeks  and  their  blue  eyes  sparkled 
with  reflections  of  the  sea.  Mrs.  Christenson  was  mak- 
ing terms  with  a  lady  in  an  inner  room. 

"You  wish  for  a  servant?"  she  said,  coming  forward 
pleasantly. 

"My  business  is  with  Miss  Bertha  Lund,  your  niece. 
I  believe  she  is  lodging  'here.'' 

"My  niece  is  gone,"  answered  the  landlady,  uncere- 
moniously turning  her  back  and  shutting  the  door  with 
that  emphasis  which  is  feminine  for  profanity.  Then  her 
voice  was  heard,  pitched  a  little  higher,  as  she  interpreted 
the  silvery  Swedish  of  the  girl  within,  for  the  benefit  of 
her  future  mistress. 

"Something  must  be  wrong,"  thought  Emily.  But 
there  was  nothing  for  her  to  do  but  retreat,  somewhat 
hurt  and  a  great  deal  troubled.  She  had  reached  the 
head  of  the  stairs  when  one  of  the  domestics  in  the  wait- 
ing-room came  forward  sympathetically  and  in  her  pretty, 
broken  English  explained  Mrs.  Christenson's  conduct. 
Bertha,  it  seems,  had  not  returned  home  since  the  night 
of  the  trial.  Search  had  been  made  for  her,  but  without 
result.  From  what  the  girl  said,  though  this  was  put 
guardedly  and  in  an  almost  inaudible  whisper,  Emily 
inferred  that  Bertha,  who  was  naturally  quick-tempered, 
had  chafed  under  her  aunt's  imperious  discipline  and 
had  probably  gone  to  board  with  some  friend,  register- 
ing herself  for  employment  meanwhile  in  one  of  the  other 
intelligence  offices.  Once  before  she  had  manifested  the 
same  impatience  of  restraint  and  had  disappeared  into  the 
country  for  an  entire  summer. 

It  was  still  possible,  even  probable,  that  she  could  be 
found  if  search  were  instituted  at  once.  Bertha  had  only 


THE   INCENDIARY.  81 

a  day's  start  of  her  pursuer,  and  it  was  not  likely  that  she 
had  secured  a  situation  to  her  taste  so  soon.  Emily 
formed  the  heroic  resolve  to  scour  the  intelligence  offices 
herself.  Finding  the  list  in  the  directory  incomplete, 
she  boldly  visited  police  headquarters,  from  which 
licenses  are  issued,  and  copied  the  name  and  address  of 
every  keeper  in  the  city. 

With  a  letter  from  one  of  the  police  commissioners  and 
a  minute  description  of  Bertha  at  her  tongue's  end,  Em- 
ily had  passed  from  office  to  office,  braving  discourtesy 
and  even  insult.  As  this  was  the  busy  season  her  truancy 
from  the  studio  would  have  to  be  made  up  by  lamplight 
work,  which  meant  ache  to  her  weary  eyes,  and  the  un- 
wonted climbing  of  stairs  and  trudging  about  for  hours 
soon  exhausted  her  small  stock  of  strength.  But  Emily 
was  less  concerned  over  her  personal  sacrifice  than  over 
the  failure  of  her  inquiries.  By  4  o'clock  her  task  was 
still  uncompleted.  The  rounds  of  the  offices  had  not  been 
half-made.  Still  no  Bertha  could  be  found,  no  girl  an- 
swering her  description  or  dressed  as  Bertha  had  been 
dressed  at  the  trial  having  applied  for  work  on  the  pre- 
vious day.  With  a  cloud  of  despondency  forming  over 
her  heart,  only  lightened  by  a  dim  hope  of  consolation 
from  Shagarach,  she  had  turned  her  steps  in  the  direction 
of  his  office  when  John  Davidson  overtook  her. 

"Not  to  be  found!"  echoed  the  marshal. 

"When  was  she  seen  last?"  inquired  Shagarach,  calmly. 

"The  evening  of  the  trial,"  answered  Emily.  "She 
hasn't  returned  to  her  aunt's,  where  she  was  lodging, 
since  then.'' 

"Why,  I  saw  the  girl  talking  with  McCausland,"  said 
Davidson. 

"When?''  asked  the  lawyer. 

"Tuesday  evening.  Everybody  else  had  gone  and 
Miss  Barlow  and  I  were  alone  in  the  ante-chamber.  Mc- 
Causland put  his  head  in,  as  if  he  wanted  the  room,  and 
I  noticed  two  women  behind  him.  One  was  the  house- 
maid and  the  other  was " 

"Mrs.  Arnold?" 

"True  enough.    'Twa'nt  no  need  to  tell  you,  was  it?" 


82  THE   INCENDIARY. 

The  marshal's  eyes  grew  big  with  admiration. 

"Merely  a  guess.  Bertha  Lund  is  a  government  wit- 
ness, and  McCausland  has  a  habit  of  keeping  his  wit- 
nesses under  cover,  especially  when  they  are  poor  and  he 
is  fighting  wealth  or  influence.  However,  we  have  a 
right  to  know  all  Bertha  knows.  Could  you  find  out  if 
she  is  living  with  the  Arnolds?''  he  said,  turning  to 
Emily. 

"They  are  out  of  town,  but  I'll  make  inquiries,"  an- 
swered the  resolute  girl. 

"This  may  be  of  use."  Shagarach  handed  her  the  note 
he  had  rapidly  written.  It  was  unsealed  and  addressed 
to  the  warden  of  the  state  prison.  When  the  young  girl 
was  settled  again  to  John  Davidson's  satisfaction  in  the 
seat  of  his  buggy,  she  opened  the  envelope  and  read  its 
contents  aloud: 

"My  Dear  Sir:  The  bearer,  Miss  Emily  Barlow,  is  assigned 
to  important  duties  for  the  defense  in  the  cause  of  Common- 
wealth vs.  Floyd.  I  shall  esteem  it  a  favor  if  you  will  grant 
her  admission  to  the  defendant  as  my  personal  representative 
at  all  times  when  she  may  apply  to  you.  Respectfully  yours, 

"MEYER  SHAGARACH, 
"Counsel  for  the  Accused." 

"Well,  that  was  clever,  wasn't  it?"  said  old  John  Da- 
vidson, and  for  the  rest  of  the  ride  he  entertained  her  with 
anecdotes  of  Shagarach's  most  memorable  victories,  as 
well  as  other  fascinating  relations.  For  the  marshal, 
among  his  many  virtues,  was  a  famous  traveler,  being  one 
of  the  handful  who  can  boast  of  having  set  foot  in  every 
state  of  our  union.  He  may  not  have  been  a  marvel  of 
detective  cunning,  as  McCausland  had  intimated,  but 
Emily  had  forgotten  all  about  her  fatigue  and  was  in  an 
agreeably  hopeful  frame  of  mind  when  he  set  her  down 
before  her  house  door  in  the  plain  side  street. 

That  night  Robert  Floyd  slept  in  a  state  prison  cell. 
The  atmosphere  of  the  place  oppressed  him.  Everything, 
down  to  the  very  keys  and  padlocks,  was  more  massive 
than  at  the  county  jail.  Led  along  a  narrow  corridor  by 
tenanted  cells,  whose  inmates  came  to  the  bars  and 
greeted  him,  or  crouched  in  the  inmost  recesses,  he  was 
reminded  of  a  menagerie  of  dangerous  beasts.  At  the 
door  of  his  own  cell  the  revulsion  had  seized  him  like  an 


THE   INCENDIARY.  83 

epileptic  fit  and  he  had  wrenched  himself  loose  from  the 
jailer.  In  an  instant  four  vise-like  hands  were  tightened 
on  him  and  he  was  flung  bodily  into  the  apartment.  The 
iron  door  swung  to  with  a  clang  and  he  heard  the  jailer's 
footsteps  receding. 

"Coo-ee!    Ducky,  don't  ee  like  ee  c'adle?" 

"He's  a  lifer,  sure!" 

"Don't  cry,  Johnnie.    You'll  never  get  out  any  more." 

"I  move  a  resolution  of  sympathy  for  our  newly  elected 
associate.  All  in  favor,  curse  Longlegs!" 

There  is  a  passage  in  Bach's  "Passion"  music  where  the 
infuriated  Jews,  being  offered  the  choice  of  pardon  for 
Barabbas  or  the  Savior,  shriek  out  the  name  of  the  rob- 
ber. Robert  remembered  thinking  that  up  to  then  he  had 
never  heard  anything  more  devilish  than  the  roar  of  rage 
with  which  the  multitude  express  their  preference  for 
"Barabbas!''  But  the  chorus  of  curses  from  the  convict 
pack  that  greeted  the  sobriquet  of  "Longlegs''  was  like  an 
uproar  from  still  lower  deeps,  where  spirits  more  hideous 
than  the  deicides  may  be  confined. 

This  is  not  the  normal  temper  of  prisons,  by  any  means. 
But  the  Georgetown  prison  had  been  for  months  in  a  state 
of  incipient  mutiny  and  the  brewing  storm  was  now 
threatening  to  break.  Among  the  grounds  of  complaint 
alleged  against  the  present  warden  was  his  retention  of  the 
obnoxious  turnkey,  "Longlegs,"  who  was  loathed  as  a 
"squealer,"  because  he  could  not  be  bought.  It  was  fur- 
ther alleged  that  the  men's  tobacco  rations  had  been  un- 
justly diminished  one-half,  such  a  thing  as  gratitude  for 
the  allowance  of  this  luxury  at  all  not  entering  their 
minds.  The  teams  that  carted  goods  from  the  workshops 
had  recently  been  put  in  charge  of  prison  employes,  and 
a  useful  means  of  communication  with  outer  friends  thus 
cruelly  cut  off.  In  the  eyes  of  the  "solitaries"  and  "hard- 
labor"  men  their  bill  of  rights  had  been  monstrously 
trampled  upon,  and  there  was  ample  cause  for  the  depos- 
ing of  Warden  Tapp  and  the  establishment  of  anarchy  in 
the  institution.  Only  the  "lifers"  were  for  peace. 

"Half  a  plug  is  better  than  no  smoke,  boys,"  said  John 
Bryant,  who  had  killed  his  wife,  humorously.  But  he  had 


84  THE    INCENDIARY. 

served  fourteen  years  already  and  lived  in  hopes  of  a 
pardon  some  Thanksgiving  day  for  his  good  behavior. 

After  exhibiting  so  clearly  their  position  "against  the 
government,"  Robert's  fellow-lodgers  began  to  put  in- 
quiries to  himself. 

"Say,  freshy,  what's  your  name?" 

Robert  was  too  exasperated,  too  disgusted,  to  answer. 

"He's  tongue-tied." 

"Wants  his  supper." 

"Look  out  for  a  spy,  fellers.    That  ain't  true  blue." 

"Mum's  the  word." 

It  was  evident  that  Floyd's  refusal  to  make  free  had 
branded  him  at  once  with  the  stamp  of  unpopularity.  But 
the  young  man  had  other  thoughts  to  occupy  his  mind. 
He  was  pondering  upon  his  own  terrible  plight  and  upon 
Shagarach's  visit.  Fully  an  hour  must  have  passed  in 
these  reflections,  for  it  was  very  dark,  when  they  were  dis- 
turbed by  a  low  remark  from  his  left-hand  neighbor. 

"Say,  chummy,  I  hain't  one  of  these  'ere  bloomin'  muti- 
neers." 

It  was  a  wheezy  voice  and  Floyd  remembered  to  have 
heard  at  intervals  from  that  quarter  one  of  those  racking 
coughs  which  distress  the  listener  almost  as  much  as  the 
sufferer.  The  man  seemed  to  be  in  the  rear  of  his  cell 
and  to  have  his  mouth  to  the  wall.  Robert  said  nothing, 
but  his  interest  was  languidly  aroused. 

"Say,  get  into  the  hospital,  Dobbs,''  remarked  a  voice 
that  was  beginning  to  be  familiar  to  Robert. 

"I  'ave  been  in  the  'ospital,  you  unfeelin',  bloomin' 
coves,"  replied  the  asthmatic  prisoner. 

"Ho,  ee's  Henglish,  ee  his,"  said  some  one,  whereupon 
there  was  a  faint  storm  of  laughter.  Robert's  sympathy 
was  enlisted  on  the  side  of  the  man  called  Dobbs.  His 
uncle  had  been  an  Englishman  and  the  national  feeling 
was  strong  in  the  nephew.  Speaking  as  low  as  possible, 
so  that  the  others  might  not  hear,  he  said  to  Dobbs : 

"You  are  an  Englishman?  This  is  bad  company  you've 
got  into/' 

"Lord,  me  boy,  Hi  know  that — a  scurvy  job  lot  o' 
bloomin'  ordinary  coves  as  I'd  cut  dead  if  Hi  was  a 


THE   INCENDIARY.  85 

gentleman  of  fortune.  But  you  see  Hi  hain't.  Being 
only  Bill  Dobbs,  Hi  can't  afford  to  preach  hinnocence, 
and  choose  me  hown  'ouse-mates,  like  a  juke." 

The  cough  choked  his  utterance  for  awhile  and  evoked 
further  remonstrance  from  the  yawning  crew  around  him. 

"What  is  your  sentence?"  asked  Robert. 

"Height  years  for  burglary — if  they  can  'old  me,"  and 
Bill  Dobbs  chuckled  knowingly,  like  one  who  had  tested 
the  fragility  of  prison  walls  before.  "W'ich,  bein'  a  slip- 
pery fish,  is  a  question  Hi  'ave  been  considerin'  seriously." 

"Why  did  you  leave  England?"  asked  Robert. 

"The  climate  is  gettin'  so  warm,"  answered  the 
cockney.  "W'y,  the  gulf  stream  is  comin'  so  near  us  there 
it  would  almost  boil  a  turkey.  Hawfully  bloomin'  'ot,  you 
know,  chummy.  I'm  a-winkin'  at  you." 

"Especially  about  Scotland  Yard,  I  suppose.  You're 
a  professional  burglar?" 

"Not  always,  young  man.  Hi  'ad  a  Henglish  mother 
once,  w'ich  I  shall  never  forget  'ow  she  'card  my  prayers. 
And  hevery  day  Hi  dressed  myself  up  in  my  blue  blouse 
and  breeches,  and  my  dinner  pail  (w'ich  wasn't  hempty) 
under  my  harm,  and  hevery  bloomin'  bobby  I  met  says 
Hi  to  him,  says  Hi:  'Hi'm  Martin  Thimblethorpe,  from 
the  west  country,  and  can  you  tell  me  w'ere's  Regent 
row?'  Blarst  me  if  they  wouldn't  point  their  fingers  this 
way  and  that  way  and  follow  my  departing  footsteps  with 
a  look  of  pride,  as  much  as  to  say :  'There  goes  a  honest 
Hinglish  workingman;  see  'is  hindependent  hair." 

"But  you  never  worked  very  hard,  I  fancy,  with  your 
blouse  and  your  dinner-pail?" 

"  'Ard?    Hi  fancy  Hi  did." 

"What  did  you  do?" 

"Jeweler's  'elp." 

"That  is,  you  sold  your  plunder  to  a  fence?'' 

"Fence?  Wot  fence?  Hi  'ad  an  accommodatin'  friend 
in  the  business,  who  asked  no  impertinent  questions  and 
paid  me  'alf  price  for  my  contributions — w'ich  was  bloom- 
in'  low  figures,  considering  Hi  never  accepted  hanything 
cheap.  If  there's  one  class  Hi  'ate,  positively  'ate,  young 


86  THE    INCENDIARY. 

man,  it's  them  bloomin'  shoddy  gaffers  wot  sport  a  gen- 
teel reputation  on  plated  spoons  and  paste." 

"You  always  discriminated  against  such  people?" 

"Halways!  Ho,  it  used  to  do  my  'eart  good,"  con- 
tinued Dobbs,  chuckling  at  the  reminiscence,  "w'en  they 
wrote  up  one  of  my  nocturnal  visits  (Hi  halways  make 
my  collections  in  the  quiet  hours  of  the  hevenin')  as  'ow 
the  leavin'  of  the  plated  ware  and  the  abandonin'  of  a 
temptin'  case  of  hartificial  diamonds  shows  the  'and  of  the 
solitary  cracksman.  There's  appreciation,  Hi  used  to  say ! 
There's  fame!  You  'it  it  'appily,  young  man.  Hi  always 
discriminated." 

"Martin  Thimblethorpe,  then,  was  the  solitary  cracks- 
man, and  your  real  name  is  Dobbs?" 

"Bill  Dobbs.  Wot's  your  line,  chummy?  Fashionable 
embezzlement?  Hi  admire  that  line.  It's  genteel  and 
the  perquisites  is  liberal  accordingly." 

Floyd  was  getting  interested  in  spite  of  himself.  These 
first-hand  experiences  of  a  professional  burglar  were  life, 
and  in  spite  of  the  fellow's  utter  villainy  and  vulgarity  (he 
could  almost  see  his  cunning  leer  through  the  walls)  they 
had  a  spice  of  romance  that  held  'him.  But  their  colloquy 
was  interrupted  just  here  by  a  sound  of  footsteps  and  the 
approach  of  a  light,  which  set  the  whole  ward  raving 
again. 

"Shut  up  your  screeching,"  came  a  voice  of  command, 
at  which  the  mutinous  crew  subsided,  and  Robert  heard 
apologetic  remarks. 

"It's  Gradger." 

"It  isn't  Longlegs." 

"We  thought  it  was  Longlegs.'' 

Gradger,  for  some  reason,  was  a  favorite  with  the  men. 
He  went  straight  to  Floyd's  cell  and  pointed  him  out  to 
Emily  Barlow. 

"Emily !" 

"Robert!" 

That  was  all  they  could  say  for  awhile. 

"My  darling,"  cried  Robert,  who  was  the  first  to  re- 
cover command  of  himself.  He  was  indignant  to  think 


THE   INCENDIARY.  87 

that  she,  too,  should  be  forced  into  these  surroundings. 
"Why  have  you  come  here?" 

"Only  to  be  with  you  for  a  few  moments,  Robert.  I 
thought  of  you  all  friendless  and  lonesome." 

"God  bless  you,  dear.  But  you  must  not  remain.  Go 
away  quickly  and  do  not  come  here  again." 

It  was  the  old,  natural  instinct  to  screen  the  purer  half 
of  our  race  from  degrading  contact  with  things  we  our- 
selves must  meet. 

"But  why  should  I  not  visit  you,  Robert?" 

"Because  this  is  hell  and  you  are  an  angel." 

He  drew  her  to  him  and  kissed  her  through  the  bars. 
Instantly  the  sound  was  re-echoed  a  hundred  times,  dis- 
torted and  vulgarized,  throughout  the  ward.  In  the  si- 
lence which  followed  Emily's  first  words,  the  sweethearts 
had  forgotten  their  audience  of  thieves  and  cutthroats, 
to  whom  every  syllable  was  audible.  Hierarchs  of  sin, 
virtuosos  in  infamy,  all  the  demon  in  their  souls  seemed 
roused  by  this  innocent  pledge  of  mutual  faith  between 
youth  and  maiden,  and  even  the  stern  threats  of  Gradger 
could  not  silence  their  outbreak  of  hideous  derision. 

Emily  started  back  as  red  as  fire. 

"Go,  darling,"  cried  Robert,  between  his  set  teeth, 
while  shouts  of  "Ta,  ta,  Robert,"  "Kiss  me,  Emily,"  in- 
termingled with  the  foul  ribaldry  generated  in  minds  shut 
away  from  all  purifying  touch  of  womanhood,  taunted  the 
fleeing  girl  and  roused  her  imprisoned  lover's  passion  to 
frenzy.  He  could  have  strangled  three  of  them  single- 
handed. 

"Better  call  daytimes,  miss,  when  the  men  are  work- 
ing in  the  shops,"  said  Gradger.  He  had  not  taken  Emily 
for  a  girl  who  had  herself  to  work  daytimes  in  a  shop. 

Meanwhile  the  storm  raged  louder  and  louder,  and 
several  turnkeys  were  called  to  quell  the  disturbance  and 
carry  the  ringleaders  away  to  the  "block."  But  the  more 
it  volleyed  around  him  the  cooler  grew  young  Floyd. 
His  resentment  gradually  hardened  to  a  kind  of  pitying 
scorn,  and  when  the  last  oath  had  died  away  it  was  with 
sweeter  thoughts  than  he  had  indulged  for  three  bitter 
nights  that  he  laid  his  head  on  the  pallet  and  drowsed 


88  THE   INCENDIARY. 

into  oblivion.  His  pillow  lay  close  to  the  point  of  the 
wall  where  Dobbs  liked  to  do  his  talking,  and  while  the 
midnight  bell  was  ringing  he  thought  he  heard  the  cracks- 
man whisper: 

"The  young  lady  stretched  it,  chummy.  You  'ave  one 
friend  'ere.  Let  'em  screech  their  bloomin'  lungs  off." 

But  this  may  have  been  a  dream. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

SIMPLE   SIMON. 

"The  appointment  you  heard  them  make.  I  missed 
the  rendezvous." 

"Harry  Arnold  said  Wednesday  was  his  locky  day •" 

"Lucky  day,"  corrected  Shagarach. 

"His  lucky  day/'  said  Aronson,  "and  if  the  old  lady 
put  up  he  would  break  the  bank." 

"That  I  understand.  A  gambling  tryst.  The  old  lady 
is  his  mother.  Put  up  means  to  pay  his  money.  But 
the  place — what  was  the  name  of  the  place?" 

"When  they  left  each  other  Arnold  said:  'Wednesday 
at  the  Tough-Coat,'  and  Kennedy  said:  'All  right, 
Harry.' " 

"Repeat  that  word." 

"Tough-Coat." 

"Repeat  it  again." 

"Tough-Coat." 

Still  Shagarach  looked  nonplused.  The  syllables  con- 
veyed no  meaning  whatever.  Yet  Aronson  felt  sure  of 
the  substantial  accuracy  of  his  version. 

"Very  well."  The  lawyer  dismissed  the  subject,  sent 
Aronson  off  on  irrelevant  business  and  gave  a  few  hours 
of  attention  to  his  other  clients.  The  law's  delay  had  not 
infected  Shagarach.  Whatever  the  matter  he  undertook, 
he  was  punctual  as  the  clock  in  its  performances,  though 
not,  in  the  ordinary  sense  of  the  word,  a  methodical  man. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  an  unlooked-for  visitor  took  his 


THE   INCENDIARY.  89 

place  among  those  waiting  in  the  outer  room.  Jacob 
hastened  to  give  him  the  chair  of  precedence,  and  an- 
nounced his  name  to  Shagarach,  then  in  closet  con- 
ference with  an  honest-appearing  bookkeeper,  whose 
acquittal  on  a  charge  of  forgery  he  had  just  procured. 

"I  will  see  Mr.  Rabofsky  next,"  said  the  lawyer  to 
Jacob. 

The  man  so  called  was  a  short,  bulky  Hebrew,  of  60- 
odd  winters  (one  would  prefer  reckoning  his  years  by  the 
more  rigorous  season).  His  nose  was  like  an  owl's  beak 
and  his  beard  spread  itself  luxuriantly  over  his  face, 
plainly  undefiled  of  the  scissors.  The  hair  was  indeter- 
minately reddish  and  gray  and  his  eyes  were  the  color  of 
steel.  Shagarach  bowed  him  into  his  private  room,  the 
caller  strutting  like  one  accustomed  to  homage. 

Although  the  door  was  closed  behind  him  as  usual, 
Rabofsky  glanced  suspiciously  around  and  spoke  in  the 
Hebrew  jargon — that  grafting  of  foreign  idioms  on  a 
German  patois  which  his  tribe  has  carried  all  over  eastern 
Europe,  and  latterly,  via  Hamburg,  into  the  cities  of 
America. 

"It  is  a  long  time  since  we  have  met,  kinsman  Shag- 
arach," he  said. 

"A  long  time  since  I  have  had  that  honor,"  replied  the 
lawyer,  bowing  with  the  Hebrew's  respect  for  age. 

"Not  since  your  respected  father's  funeral,  I  believe. 
He  was  one  of  my  friends,  whose  memory  always  re- 
mains to  uplift  me — a  glory  to  our  race  and  religion." 

"My  respected  father's  friends  are  my  friends  to  the 
end  of  my  days." 

Shagarach's  father  had  been  a  rabbin  or  expounder 
of  the  sacred  books.  Great  was  the  scandal  when  Rabbi 
Moses'  son  abandoned  daily  attendance  at  the  synagogue 
and  gave  himself  over  to  the  ways,  though  not  to  the 
society,  of  the  gentiles.  His  mother,  with  whom  he  lived, 
still  kept  up  the  observances  of  the  law,  baking-the  un- 
leavened bread  at  the  paschal  season  and  purchasing  the 
flesh  only  of  the  lawfully  butchered  ox.  Her  son  neither 
praised  nor  blamed,  but  she  knew  'he  was  no  longer  of 
Israel's  sects;  not  even  of  the  mystical  Essenes,  among 


90  THE   INCENDIARY. 

whom  his  father  might  be  counted,  and  whose  study  is  the 
unpronounceable  name  of  God.  Others  of  his  people 
who  lacked  a  mother's  indulgence  knew  this,  and  it  was 
rarely  that  one  of  the  orthodox  children  of  Israel  brought 
his  worldly  troubles  to  Shagarach. 

''Your  health  is  strong  under  Jehovah,  I  trust,"  con- 
tinued Simon  Rabofsky. 

"Have  you  come  to  inquire  about  my  health?"  asked 
Shagarach.  The  old  man's  prelude,  beginning  so  fitfully 
and  far  away,  threatened  to  prolong  itself  interminably. 

"Nay,  a  small  affair  of  consultation  which  it  shall  be 
richly  worth  your  while  to  advise  upon/'  answered  the 
other,  craftily. 

"State  the  facts  with  brevity  and  clearness." 

"Speedily,  kinsman  Shagarach,  speedily."  Again  he 
looked  cautiously  around.  "You  are  aware  that  out  of 
the  savings  of  my  days  of  hard  labor  I  occasionally  per- 
mit the  use  of  small  sums  to  my  friends." 

"You  are  a  money-lender?  That  I  know.  One  of  my 
clients  desires  a  loan  of  you.  Which  is  it?" 

"Not  one  of  your  clients,  kinsman  Shagarach." 

"Who?" 

"Mrs.  Arnold." 

Not  a  muscle  of  Shagarach's  well-schooled  countenance 
quivered,  though  the  old  Jew's  eyes  almost  pierced  him 
as  he  uttered  the  name.  Opposite  as  the  two  men  were 
in  every  trait,  a  substratum  of  affinity  came  out  in  this 
deadlock  of  their  glances.  On  both  sides  the  same  set 
lip,  the  same  immobile  forehead,  trained  by  centuries  of 
traffic  to  conceal  the  fermentation  of  the  powerful  brain 
within. 

"I  am  not  acquainted  with  the  lady/'  said  Shagarach. 

"But  you  are  acquainted  with  her  estate  under  the 
will  of  her  brother-in-law." 

Thoroughly  aroused  now  to  his  subject,  Rabofsky  had 
abandoned  his  roundabout  manner  and  pushed  his  words 
rapidly  forth  in  an  indistinct  growl. 

"Slightly  so.    State  the  facts." 

"I  will.  Yesterday  there  came  to  my  office  a  lady,  all 
veiled,  and  asked  me  for  $10,000.  'That  is  a  large  sum/ 


THE   INCENDIARY.  91 

said  I.  'You  have  it,'  said  she,  'and  I  want  it.  I  will  pay 
for  it.'  'Yes,  indeed,  you  shall  pay  for  it,'  I  said  to  myself, 
but  aloud  I  only  asked  her:  'What  security  could  you 
give  me  if  I  should  go  about  among  my  friends  and 
trouble  them  and  trouble  myself  for  your  service?'  'The 
security  of  my  name,'  she  answered,  proudly,  like  a  queen 
commanding  her  scullion.  'I  am  Mrs.  Arnold,  widow  of 
the  banker,  Henry  Arnold,  and  a  daughter  of  Ezra 
Brewster  of  Lynn.'  'Oh,  madam,'  said  I,  'I  am  Simon 
Rabofsky,  husband  of  Rebecca  Rabofsky,  and  a  son  of  the 
high  priest  Levi,  who  is  twice  mentioned  in  the  talmud; 
but  I  could  not  borrow  $10,000  without  pledging  some- 
thing more  substantial  than  my  great  ancestor's  name.' 
Then  she  sneered  a  little  under  her  veil,  the  proud  un- 
believer, and  took  out  her  rubies  and  diamonds  and  watch 
— a  glittering  heap.  'Keep  these  until  I  return  you  the 
money,'  she  said.  'This  is  not  enough,'  said  I,  examin- 
ing the  stones.  'Have  you  nothing  more?'  'My  son's 
interest  in  the  estate  of  the  late  Prof.  Arnold  will  cover 
your  paltry  loan  500  times  over.'  'I  will  reflect  upon  the 
subject,'  said  I.  'Call  again  in  two  days.'  So  I  came  to 
consult  kinsman  Shagarach.'' 

"Well?" 

"Has  her  son  any  interest  in  Prof.  Arnold's  estate?5' 

The  question  had  come  point-blank  at  last  and  Shaga- 
rach found  himself  less  prepared  to  answer  it  than  he 
could  have  wished. 

The  Arnolds  were  financially  embarrassed,  possibly 
ruined,  by  Harry's  infatuation  for  the  gaming-table.  This 
was  to  be  inferred  from  the  conversation  with  Kennedy 
over-heard  by  Aronson.  Their  real  estate  must  be  mort- 
gaged to  the  limit,  perhaps  beyond  its  shrunken  value, 
or  Mrs.  Arnold  would  not  be  begging  a  loan  at  a  money- 
lender's shop.  Family  jewels  were  invariably  the  last  re- 
sort of  declining  fortunes  unwilling  to  abandon  cherished 
appearances.  Should  he  advise  the  loan  and  let  Harry 
cast  it  away,  as  he  seemed  likely  to  do,  in  his  ambition  to 
"break  the  bank?"  Such  a  step  might  place  the  young 
man  in  his  power. 

For  the  standing  of  the  will  was  still  uncertain.    Evi- 


92  THE   INCENDIARY. 

dence  might  be  in  existence  sufficient  to  uphold  the  de- 
stroyed document.  In  that  event  Mrs.  Arnold's  promis- 
sory note  to  Rabofsky  would  be  worth  no  more  than  the 
value  of  the  securities  he  held.  Robert's  statement  was 
positive  that  Harry  was  disinherited.  This  opened  up  a 
new  view  to  Shagarach. 

It  would  be  fatal  to  the  interests  of  Floyd  if  the  will 
should  be  ignored  and  half  the  estate  allowed  him  as  heir- 
at-law.  Such  a  parade  of  the  profits  of  the  incendiary's 
crime  could  not  fail  to  rearouse  a  burst  of  public  indigna- 
tion which  would  work  its  way  into  the  jury-box.  Shaga- 
rach determined  then  and  there  to  strive  for  the  uphold- 
ing of  the  will,  though  it  should  mean  the  ruin  of  the 
Arnold  fortune  and  the  loss  to  Robert  Floyd  of 
$5,000,000. 

"I  do  not  know,"  he  answered.  Something  was  due 
to  Rabofsky. 

"You  have  waited  a  long  time.  You  have  been  think- 
ing. What  do  you  think?" 

"It  is  a  difficult  part  of  a  difficult  problem.  My  ad- 
vice  " 

"You  will  not  charge  your  respected  father's  friend  un- 
reasonably?'' put  in  the  Jew. 

Shagarach  knew  that  Rabofsky  was  a  pharisee  of  the 
strictest  sect  and  had  not  been  his  father's  friend.  He 
knew  also  that  reasonableness  of  charge  was  not  one  of 
his  own  eccentricities,  and  probably  would  not  be  ex- 
emplified in  the  loan  to  Mrs.  Arnold.  But  he  replied: 

"Certainly  not.  I  shall  consider  that  when  the  work 
is  done." 

"Now,  kinsman  Shagarach." 

"Not  now.  I  cannot  foresee  the  amount  of  labor,  the 
number  of  consultations,  involved,"  said  Shagarach,  reso- 
lutely. "Do  you  wish  my  advice?" 

"I  shall  not  pay  the  charge  if  it  is  unreasonable," 
growled  Rabofsky. 

"For  the  present  I  advise  you  to  lend  only  what  you 
can  with  safety  on  the  pledges.  I  will  see  Mrs.  Arnold 
about  the  estate  and  confer  with  you  further  after  our 
interview." 


THE   INCENDIARY.  93 

At  that  moment  Aronson  opened  the  door,  his  eyes 
dancing  with  excitement  He  panted,  as  if  he  had  just 
run  upstairs. 

"Meester  Shagarach,"  he  broke  in,  but  stood  awed  in 
the  presence  of  Rabofsky,  who  was  a  potent  man  in  the 
Ghetto. 

"Escort  Mr.  Rabofsky  to  the  stairs,"  said  Shagarach, 
approaching  Aronson,  so  that  the  latter  might  have  an 
opportunity  to  whisper  his  message.  He  was  none  too 
soon,  for  a  young  man  had  already  entered  the  door  of 
the  outer  room. 

"Kennedy,"  whispered  Aronson. 

It  was  Harry  Arnold's  friend. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

BROWBEATING  EXTRAORDINARY. 

"Will  you  take  in  my  card?  I'm  in  a  deuce  of  a  rush," 
said  Kennedy  to  Aronson  when  the  latter  had  dismissed 
Simon  Rabofsky.  Shagarach  read  his  name,  daintily  en- 
graved in  the  form  to  which  the  weather-vane  of  fashion 
had  at  that  moment  veered  and  was  imperatively  point- 
ing. It  introduced  "Mr.  Arthur  K.  Foxhall." 

"I  will  see  the  gentleman  in  a  few  minutes,"  said  he. 
Shagarach  must  have  transacted  an  almost  incredible 
amount  of  business  in  the  interim,  for  his  waiting-room 
was  cleared  of  clients  when  "Mr.  Arthur  K.  Foxhall"  was 
at  length  admitted. 

"I  received  this  communication  from  you.  My  lawyer 
informs  me  that  it  contains  matter  defamatory  per  se." 
He  tossed  a  letter  down  on  the  table  at  which  Shagarach 
was  sitting,  with  his  arms  folded  as  usual.  "But  before 
taking  action  on  the  matter  I  thought  I  would  give  you 
an  opportunity  to  explain." 

"The  note  is  in  English,  is  it  not?"  said  Shagarach. 

"It  might  pass  for  such,"  replied  young  man  supercil- 
ious. 


94  THE   INCENDIARY. 

"Then  it  needs  no  further  explanation.  The  sooner  you 
and  your  lawyer  begin  your  action  the  better  pleased  I 
shall  be."  Shagarach  began  writing  a  letter  coolly,  as  if 
the  matter  were  at  an  end,  but  his  visitor,  either  in  nerv- 
ousness or  anger,  tapped  the  polished  tip  of  his  shoe  with 
his  cane.  It  was  certainly  a  most  aggressive-looking 
weapon,  with  its  knob  carved  into  a  scowling  bulldog's 
head. 

"Gentlemen" — he  emphasized  the  word — "men  of 
honor/'  he  paused  again,  "  do  not  use  language  of  others 
which  they  cannot  defend,  either  before  the  courts  of 
law  or  by  giving  personal  satisfaction." 

"Gentlemen  and  men  of  honor  do  not  fabricate  lies 
after  taking  a  solemn  oath  to  tell  nothing  but  the  truth/' 
answered  Shagarach,  without  glancing  up  from  the  note 
he  was  scribbling. 

"The  third  person  protects  you.  You  use  the  coward's 
refuge,  innuendo,  because  you  dare  not  address  the 
charge  to  me  directly." 

Shagarach  picked  up  his  letter,  which  the  visitor  had 
thrown  down. 

"I  have  taken  particular  pains  to  be  direct  as  well  as 
explicit  over  my  own  signature.  I  find  that  I  have  ac- 
cused you,,  Arthur  Kennedy  Foxhall,"  he  emphasized  the 
middle  name,  though  it  was  only  initialed  in  the  ad- 
dress, "of  deliberate  perjury  in  the  case  of  Common- 
wealth vs.  Bail.  My  letters  do  not  as  a  rule  require  mar- 
ginal annotations  or  parol  addition  to  make  their  mean- 
ing clear,  and  I  am  credited  with  sufficient  prudence  to 
foresee  their  consequences  before  writing  them." 

Shagarach  folded  his  arms  again  and  his  great  eyes 
pierced  Foxhall — or  Kennedy  as  he  was  generally  called. 
It  was  the  family  name  of  a  rich  relative  who  had  adopted 
and  supported  him. 

"No,"  he  added,  slowly,  "this  is  hardly  a  case  for  prose- 
cution or  for  personal  satisfaction.  The  duello  is  out  of 
date." 

"My  valet  might  object  to  the  opponent  I  assigned 
him/'  said  the  self-styled  gentleman  and  man  of  honor. 
Shagarach's  retort  was  swift,  yet  uttered  without  the 


THE   INCENDIARY.  95 

twitch  of  an  eyelash,  as  though  he  were  simply  recalling 
his  visitor  to  the  original  business. 

"His  master  lied  in  order  to  prove  an  alibi  for  Charles 
Munroe " 

Kennedy's  chalky  face  flushed  faintly. 

"If  the  sword  is  out  of  fashion  the  cane  is  not,"  he  cried, 
lifting  his  formidable  bulldog. 

"The  principal  witness  against  my  client  in  the  Bail 
case,"  continued  Shagarach,  raising  his  voice  and  con- 
trolling Kennedy  with  his  eyes,  "and  himself  the  bene- 
ficiary of  the  check  which  my  client  was  accused  of  forg- 
ing." 

"You  got  him  off.  That  was  enough.  Are  you  trying 
to  blackmail  us  for  a  heavier  fee?" 

"The  case  was  a  conspiracy  instigated  by  Charles 
Munroe  and  abetted  by  his  friends,  among  whom  Arthur 
Kennedy  Foxhall  was  the  most  conspicuous  for  his  zeal/' 

"You  scum  of  a  shyster!  Do  you  think  you  can  jew 
me  into  a  dicker?" 

Shagarach  arose  and  walked  to  the  window.  He  was 
not  an  equestrian,  but  natural  perception  taught  him  the 
useful  rule  to  turn  his  horse's  head  when  he  starts  to  run 
away.  Facing  suddenly  about,  he  said : 

"I  am  a  Jew,  true.  Perhaps  that  is  why  I  do  not  poison 
myself  with  opium." 

The  young  man's  cheek  grew  pale  again.  The  cane 
dropped  and  he  sunk  in  his  chair. 

"Am  I  to  be  prosecuted  for  that  also?"  The  anger  in 
his  tones  had  flickered  away  to  a  feeble  peevishness. 
"How  do  you  know?'' 

"Because  you  are  wearing  a  light  overcoat  with  the 
mercury  at  80,"  answered  Shagarach,  who  had  glanced 
at  the  thermometer  in  his  window.  "Because  you  have 
the  glazed  eye  of  a  man  in  fever,  and  because  you  lie  like 
an  oriental!" 

This  time  Kennedy  made  no  protest  against  the  in- 
sult. He  was  succumbing  to  the  strain  placed  upon  his 
shattered  nerves  by  the  remorseless  man  across  the  table. 

"There  is  your  cause  of  action/'  said  Shagarach,  toss- 


96  THE   INCENDIARY. 

ing  back  his  letter.    Again  he  dipped  his  pen  in  the  ink 
preparing  to  write. 

"What  do  you  want  of  me?"  asked  Kennedy. 

"Nothing,"  Shagarach  had  half-filled  the  sheet.  He 
was  stamping  the  envelope  when  the  next  question  slowly 
came. 

"Why  do  you  follow  up  the  matter?  Your  client  is 
safe?"  •: 

"But  the  community  is  no  longer  safe  when  perjurers 
strut  about,  masquerading  as  the  sole  guardians  of 
honor." 

He  folded  his  arms  once  more  and  looked  straight  at 
his  man.  In  another  the  gesture  might  seen  theatrical, 
but  it  was  Shagarach's  natural  attitude  in  thought,  like 
the  bowed  head  and  lowered  eyes  of  the  philosopher  bur- 
rowing into  the  depths  of  things,  or  the  uplifted  gaze  of 
the  poet  leaving  earth  for  the  stars  and  sunset.  The  law- 
yer's interests  lay  in  the  horizontal  plane,  and  the  faces 
of  fellow-men  were  his  study. 

•  "Yes,  I  am  reputed  inexorable  to  perjurers.  It  is  true. 
They  rarely  escape  me  unpunished.  As  a  consequence, 
witnesses  prefer  to  tell  me  the  truth,  which  is  an  advantage 
to  my  clients,  of  whose  interests  I  am  the  devoted  serv- 
itor." 

"And  you  will  ruin  me  to  gratify  this — this " 

"I  will  procure  your  indictment  for  perjury  and  con- 
spiracy in  the  case  of  Commonwealth  vs.  Bail." 

Kennedy  trembled  like  one  with  an  ague.  But 
stronger  men  than  he  had  yielded  as  abjectly  to  Shaga- 
rach. He  was  a  blood  of  high  standing,  with  a  fortune 
as  well  as  a  reputation  to  lose.  The  chances  of  a  felon's 
succeeding  to  the  property  of  old  Angus  Kennedy,  the 
millionaire,  who  had  adopted  him,  were  relatively  slight. 

"What  is  the  penalty  for  perjury?"  he  asked,  in  a  ran- 
dom way,  as  if  at  a  loss  what  to  say  or  do. 

"Imprisonment  at  hard  labor." 

"It  is  not  punishable  by  fine?" 

"Never." 

There  was  a  pause,  broken  only  by  the  rustling  of 


THE   INCENDIARY.  »7 

Aronson's  papers  in  the  outer  room.  Then  Shagarach 
spoke. 

"You  have  an  appointment  with  Harry  Arnold  for  next 
Wednesday  evening." 

Kennedy  started  up.  His  smooth  face  grew  cadaver- 
ous and  the  helpless  look  of  a  kneeling  suppliant  came 
into  his  eyes,  which  were  riveted  on  the  great,  wide  orbs 
of  his  tormentor. 

"At  a  gambling  resort,"  continued  Shagarach. 

"I  am  not  a  gambler,"  Kennedy's  voice  was  hollow,  his 
expression  piteous.  Shagarach  studied  him  a  moment. 
Probably  he  was  speaking  the  truth.  The  evil  passions 
are  jealous  and  absolute  monarchs.  Seldom  does  more 
than  one  of  them  reign  at  a  time. 

"But  Harry  Arnold  is." 

"Harry  is  plunging  heavily." 

Shagarach  was  satisfied  at  last.  An  adequate  motive 
for  Harry's  deed  was  clearly  in  view.  It  was  not  the  most 
heinous  crime  which  had  been  committed  to  gratify  the 
gamester's  passion. 

"I  wish  to  be  with  you  on  that  occasion." 

"It  will  be  hard,"  answered  Kennedy,  his  face  clouded 
with  consternation  and  a  torrid  flush  of  something  like 
shame  sweeping  over  it  "The  Dove-Cote  is  too  well 
guarded." 

"The  Dove-Cote!"  Shagarach  was  betrayed  into  an 
ejaculation  of  surprise.  This  was  the  "Tough-Coat" 
which  Aronson's  imperfect  articulation  had  disguised. 

"It  may  be  hard,  but  it  is  not  impossible." 

"Not  impossible,  no." 

"Well-known  men  are  seen  there  at  times?" 

"Oh,  yes." 

Kennedy  smiles. 

"And  your  escape  from  prison  depends  upon  my  ob- 
taining entrance." 

The  smile  had  faded  away. 

"Why  do  you  wish  to  be  there?'' 

"My  reasons  are  my  own.  However,  I  will  make  a 
limited  confidant  of  you.  I  am  at  work  upon  a  cause 
which  logical  study  does  not  perfectly  elucidate.  That 


98  THE   INCENDIARY. 

frequently  happens.  I  must  see  my  man  off  his  guard, 
when  he  is  most  himself.  My  visit  to  the  Dove-Cote  will 
be  a  psychological  study." 

"They  will  compel  me  to  vouch  for  your  good  faith." 

"You  may  do  so.  Nothing  seen  or  heard  by  me  there 
will  ever  be  revealed.  I  go,  as  I  have  told  you,  to  study 
a  soul,  not  to  gather  facts.  The  facts  are  already  mine." 

"Where  shall  I  call  for  you?" 

"Here." 

"At  8  o'clock?" 

"Very  well.  There  is  one  condition  attached  to  our 
bargain.  You  shall  not  reveal  this  appointment  to  Harry 
Arnold." 

"He  will  be  there " 

"But  he  does  not  know  me.  We  probably  shall  not 
meet.  Other — gentlemen,  as  you  call  them — will  be 
there." 

"Miss  Barlow,"  said  Aronson,  at  this  moment  opening 
the  door. 

Kennedy  had  arisen  to  go,  but  turned  curiously  when 
he  heard  the  sweet  voice  from  without. 

"Only  a  moment,  Mr.  Shagarach." 

The  lawyer  stepped  out  and  conferred  with  her.  She 
had  run  down  in  her  lunch  hour,  full  of  a  new  project 
which  she  burned  to  carry  out,  but  like  everything  else, 
she  had  thought  it  best  first  to  submit  it  to  Shagarach. 
His  approval  was  given  coolly,  she  thought. 

"Some  one  of  the  park  policemen  may  have  seen  him." 

"Possibly." 

"If  not,  how  can  you  explain  those  four  hours  of  for- 
getfulness — I  mean,  of  course,  to  the  satisfaction  of  a 
jury?" 

"It  is  not  unprecedented.  I  have  an  explanation,  or 
the  germ  of  one.  However,  pursue  your  inquiries.  They 
may  prove  of  value.  And,  when  you  visit  Floyd,  occa- 
sionally wear  a  water  lily." 

"Why?" 

"It  was  the  flower  he  brought  you  that  evening." 

Emily  caught  the  impertinent  stare  of  the  manikin 
within  just  as  she  was  turning  to  leave. 


THE   INCENDIARY.  99 

"Understand,  Kennedy,''  said  Shagarach,  "if  Arnold 
is  informed  of  this  agreement,  directly  or  indirectly,  our 
contract  is  broken  and  I  will  spare  no  pains  to  lodge  you 
where  you  belong." 

His  tone  made  the  weakling  shudder. 

"Why  do  you  desire  to  conceal  it  from  Harry?"  he 
asked,  obstinately. 

"Draw  what  inference  you  choose." 

Shagarach  returned  to  his  desk  and  Emily  was  un- 
easily aware  that  the  youth  whom  she  had  seen  in  his 
office  passed  her  twice  in  the  crowd  while  she  was  mak- 
ing her  way  back  to  the  studio.  But  Arthur  Kennedy 
Foxhall  was  too  perturbed  that  day  to  practice  with  suc- 
cess even  the  easy  arts  of  the  professional  lady-killer.  His 
pursuit  of  Emily  only  registered  on  his  memory  a  face 
which  was  to  haunt  him  in  his  drug-fed  dreams. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 
GNAWING   OF   THE  RAT'S   TOOTH. 

"Hello,  Bobbs,"  called  the  solitary  cracksman.  "Put 
your  hear  to  the  chink  and  let's  'ave  a  palaver." 

The  "chink"  was  that  hollow  spot  in  the  rear  of  the 
cell,  where  by  pressing  his  ear  against  the  wall  Floyd 
could  hear  communications  from  Dobbs,  inaudible  to 
the  rest  of  the  prisoners. 

Robert  wondered  not  a  little  at  the  persistent  friend- 
liness of  the  fellow.  He  fdt  conscious  of  lacking  the 
touch  of  comradeship.  He  might  even  be  called  ascetic, 
were  not  the  stigma  precluded  by  his  passion  for  music 
and  his  love  of  landscape.  Long  botanical  tramps  with 
his  uncle  had  given  him  an  acute  feeling  for  the  moods 
of  nature,  and  in  his  violin  playing  a  deep  sensibility 
found  outlet  through  the  practiced  and  sensitive  finger- 
tips. But  in  general  he  had  little  palate  for  the  bouquet 
and  effervescence  of  life,  and  was  credited,  therefore,  with 
less  readiness  of  sympathy  than  his  cousin,  who  re- 


100  THE    INCENDIARY. 

sponded  quickly  to  all  fleeting  impressions  of  pleasure. 

While  Harry,  as  adjutant  of  his  crack  cadets,  was  seen 
prancing  on  parade  in  all  the  bravery  of  gold  lace,  his 
sword  hilt  resting  on  his  saddle,  his  mustaches  twisted  to 
the  curl  of  an  ostrich  feather,  a  masterpiece  of  poise  and 
splendor,  Robert  would  be  found  in  dun  civilian's  garb, 
shoulder  to  shoulder  with  the  multitude  on  the  sidewalk, 
studying  the  significance  of  the  pageant.  This  strenuous- 
ness  acted  as  a  bar  to  popularity.  Harry  could  count 
twenty  friends  to  Robert's  one.  People  called  him  by  his 
given  name  at  the  second  or  third  meeting.  Women, 
in  particular,  circled  about  him  like  moths  about  a  taper. 
But  Floyd,  who  shunned  no  man's  eye,  sought  no  wo- 
man's. This  may  have  been  why  the  one  girl  to  whom 
he  had  given  his  heart  believed  his  nature  to  be  of  sterl- 
ing gold 

There  was  much  in  the  prison  life  to  quicken  the 
thoughts  of  so  serious  an  observer,  but  all  his  attempts  to 
record  the  impressions  had  ended  in  failure.  He  soon  re- 
alized that  no  man  can  at  once  live  and  write.  Our 
deeper  experiences  need  to  be  mellowed  by  distance,  just 
as  we  must  back  away  to  a  certain  focus  before  we  can 
feel  the  sentiment  of  a  painting.  There  was  nothing  left 
but  to  bide  his  time  as  patiently  as  possible,  occasionally 
beguiling  the  long  hours  by  conversation  with  Dobbs. 

This  scoundrel  had  an  unctuous  manner  which  was 
hard  to  resist.  His  quaint,  infectious  chuckle  and  pre- 
eminence in  crime  made  him  a  favorite  among  the  in- 
mates of  the  ward — a  popularity  which  he  generously 
used  to  secure  for  Robert  a  certain  immunity  from  insult. 
The  young  man  could  not  help  feeling  grateful  fqr  this. 
Besides,  the  man's  incurable  asthma,  which  he  attributed 
himself  to  "hexposure  to  cold  night  blarsts  in  the  per- 
formance of  perfessional  duties,"  entitled  him  to  sym- 
pathy. Indeed,  he  was  often  removed  to  the  hospital  for 
days  at  a  time.  During  these  intervals  Robert  remarked 
the  cessation  of  a  curious  grating  noise  which  seemed  to 
come  from  his  neighbor's  cell. 

"Blood's  thicker  than  water,  Bobbs.  You  and  Hi  are 
Henglish,  you  know.  These  'ere  bloomin'  coves  get 


THE  INCENDIARY.  101 

red-'eaded  over  nothing.  Don't  catch  me  mutineerin'  and 
violatin'  the  rules.  Ho,  no." 

This  was  true.  So  far  as  outward  behavior  went, 
Dobbs  was  an  exemplary  prisoner. 

"By  the  way,  Dobbs,  my  name  is  Floyd,"  said  Robert. 

"Ho,  you  don't  mind  bein'  called  Bobbs,  chummy. 
That's  cute  for  Robert.  Hi  found  out  your  name.  We 
hall  know  wot  you're  jugged  for.  It's  harson,  eh?'' 

"Yes." 

"  'Ow  did  you  set  it?" 

"I  am  as  innocent  of  the  charge  as  you  are."  Robert's 
tone  was  curt.  He  felt  vexed  to  be  the  subject  of  dis- 
cussion among  this  crew. 

"That's  just  wot  I  told  the  judge,  chummy,  w'en  ee 
politely  hasked  me  if  Hi  'ad  anything  to  say.  But  it 
didn't  work,  chummy.  Hi'm  a-winkin'  at  you,  Bobbs." 

The  invisible  wink  probably  expressed  incredulity,  but 
Robert  did  not  care  to  debate  his  own  case  with  his 
neighbor. 

"Hi  knows  it's  a  delicate  matter,  and  some  folks  Hi 
wouldn't  trust,  neither.  But  Dobbs  is  your  friend,  Bobbs, 
and  ready  to  prove  ee's  true  blue.  Do  you  know  I  like 
the  sound  o'  them  two  names.  Dobbs  and  Bobbs.  Sup- 
pose we  go  into  business  together. 

"DOBBS  AND  BOBBS 
"ROBS  FOBS. 

"  'Ow's  that  for  a  partnership  sign?" 

Dobbs  exploded  in  a  paroxysm  of  laughter  and  cough- 
ing over  his  own  cleverness  as  a  rhymester.  The  fit  was 
continued  so  long  that  his  neighbors  began  to  protest  in 
their  ungentle  fashion. 

"Say,  Dobbs,  get  into  your  coffin,  quick,"  cried  one. 
The  same  whose  voice  sounded  familiar  to  Robert  though 
he  was  unable  to  place  it.  It  was  a  thick,  uncouth  utter- 
ance, as  though  the  speaker's  natural  brogue  were  as- 
sisted by  the  presence  of  a  ball  of  yarn. 

"  'Old  your  bloomin'  breath  for  Longlegs,"  answered 
Dobbs. 

The  passage  of  the  hated  turnkey  caused  a  diversion  in 


102  THE    INCENDIARY. 

his  favor.  Longlegs  was  a  tall  man  of  remarkably  bony 
strength.  The  convicts  were  only  collectively  brave 
against  him.  When  not  gathered  in  packs  they  avoided 
his  stern  visage  as  a  lone  wolf  slinks  away  from  the 
hunter.  His  right  name  was  Hawkins,  but  almost  no- 
body within  these  precincts  escaped  a  sobriquet.  Warden 
Tapp  was  "the  Pelican,"  Turnkey  Gradger  was  "Gimp'' 
and  a  particularly  vile  denizen  went  under  the  name  of 
"Parson."  Dobbs  explained  his  own  escape  quaintly. 

"You  see,  chummy,  Dobbs  his  a  nickname  halready. 
You  can't  forshorten  it  no  more." 

The  visitor  who  accompanied  Hawkins  shared  the  un- 
popularity of  his  escort. 

"Whoop,  da,  da,  da!" 

"He's  a  yellow  aster." 

"Lend  me  your  monocle,  Gholly,  and  don't  be  wude." 

But  the  tall,  blond-bearded  man  with  the  monocle 
sauntered  leisurely  along,  looking  into  every  cell  until 
he  reached  the  end  of  the  corridor.  Then  he  turned  back 
and  stopped  before  Dobbs,  while  Hawkins  clanked  his 
keys  beside  him. 

"If  God  writes  a  legible  hand,  that  man's  a  villain,"  he 
quoted  from  the  old-time  actor;  "what  name  do  you  go 
by?" 
"  "Bill  Dobbs." 

"Hand  me  out  that  pen  and  ink  and  I'll  draw  your 
picture." 

"Were?" 

"On  your  thumb  nail.    The  right  one.    That's  it." 

It  seemed  scarcely  half  a  minute  before  Hawkins  was 
heard  exclaiming: 

"That's  a  stunning  likeness." 

"Take  away  this  'ere  lookin'-glass  o'  mine,  Longlegs, 
and  bestow  it  on  the  poor.  Wot  use  'ave  Hi  for  it  w'en 
Hi  carry  my  hown  himage  on  the  hend  of  my  bloom  in' 
thumb?" 

"You've  a  face  of  great  power  and  cunning,"  said  the 
artist,  "but  there's  one  thing  you  lack." 

"Wot's  that?" 


THE  INCENDIARY.  103 

"Reverence.    Some  day  I'll  use  you  for  a  mask  of  lago 
that  I've  had  in  mind." 

"Thanks.    Wot's  your  name,  stranger?" 

"Tristram  March."    It  was  our  artist  friend,  rummag- 
ing for  types  in  this  out-of-the-way  corner. 

"You've  a  sort  of  a  soft  lip  about  you  and  a  delicate 
horgan  of  hodor.  But  there's  one  thing  you  lack?" 

"What?" 

"Starch.  Hi'm  a-thinkin'  Hi'll  copy  my  make-up  after 
you  next  time  Hi  play  'Amlet  to  the  queen's  Ophelia." 

Tristram's  good-natured  laugh  was  the  last  thing 
Robert  heard  as  he  sauntered  away. 

A  sculptor,  friends  called  him  if  pressed  for  a  definition. 
Yet  in  truth  he  had  never  yet  executed  a  figure  of  life 
size,  being  a  modern  instance  of  talent  without  ambition, 
dispersing  and  dividing  its  strength.  He  modeled,  painted, 
rhymed,  composed — a  many-faceted  reflector  of  impres- 
sions ;  but  everything  he  did  was  done  by  halves  and  the 
most  finished  of  his  products  were  only  brilliant  sketches. 
His  sister  Rosalie's  single  gift,  besides  her  beauty  (which, 
to  be  sure,  entered  into  it  as  a  primary  element),  came 
to  her  less  by  nature  than  by  ardent  aspiration.  But 
critics  had  compared  her  Rosalind  to  a  perfect  rose, 
blown  into  a  bulb  of  glass;  and  she  was  still  a  patient 
learner,  standing  tiptoe  on  the  vestibule  of  her  art,  with 
an  untold  future  before  her. 

"'Ow  did  Hi  begin?''  said  the  cracksman,  when  the 
confusion  had  subsided. 

Robert  was  again  at  the  chink,  like  some  penitent  whis- 
pering through  a  grating  to  his  father  confessor.  "Hi 
never  began.  Hi  was  born  wicked.  Wicked  Willie  they 
called  me  w'en  Hi  wasn't  old  enough  to  toddle  halone. 
And  'ere's  'ow  Hi  earned  it,  Bobbs." 

"How?" 

"You  see,  my  mother,  who  was  a  hinnocent  woman 
and  a  Christian,  took  me  out  on  'er  harms  to  see  the  lord 
mayor's  procession,  the  lord  mayor  o'  Lunnon  wot  'as 
all  the  wittles  to  eat,  you  know.  And  w'ile  they  was  all 
preoccupied  admirin'  'is  lordship's  gold  buttons,  wot  was 
Wicked  Willie  a-doin'  of  but  leanin'  forward  in  'is  mam- 


104  THE   INCENDIARY. 

ma's  harms  and  pluckin'  a  hear-ring  w'ich  ee  liked,  hout 
of  a  grand  lady's  hear.  'Ow!'  says  the  lady,  w'en 
it  'urt;  and  Wicked  Willie  'ad  'is  'amis  slapped,  w'ich  Hi 
say  ee  richly  deserved,  seein'  as  'ow  ee  bungled  the 
bloomin'  job." 

"From  the  cradle  up  you  were  a  thief,"  said  Robert, 
sadly. 

"Ho,  them  bantam  games  don't  count." 
"WThen  did  you  first  begin  professionally?" 
"Do  you  count  a  gunniff  a  perfesskmal  in  this  'ere 
country?" 

"A  gunniff?    What's  that?" 

"Don't  you  know  wot  a  gunniff  is,  Bobbs?  W'y. 
Hi'm  amazed.  Hi'll  'ave  to  present  chummy  with  a  Cen- 
tury dictionary  in  sixteen  volumes  w'ich  we'll  be  hable  to 
do  w'en  we  get  out  of  'ere,  w'ich  won't  be  long.  Hi'm 
a-winkin.' " 

All  the  time  that  he  spoke  Robert  heard  a  low  scrap- 
ing noise,  softer  than  the  rasping  he  had  noticed  in  the 
evenings.  Apparently  it  was  close  to  his  ear. 

"A  gunniff  is  a  juvenile  institution  peculiar  to  our 
bloomin'  hold  Hengland." 

"Leave  out  some  of  your  bloomings,  won't  you,  espec- 
ially about  England." 

"W'y  not,  chummy?  Ain't  it  in  the  die?  Is  it  a  wulgar 
word?" 

Robert  did  not  reply,  but  he  thought  how  many  words 
as  sacred  and  beautiful  as  this  have  been  profaned  to  foul 
uses  or  cheapened  to  the  vapidity  of  a  Frenchman's 
"Mon  Dieu." 

"Hi  beg  your  bloomin'  pardon,  Bobbs.  If  it's  wulgar, 
Hi  drop  it,  and  with  your  leave  Hi'll  resume  my  hinter- 
rupted  hautobiography." 

"You  call  yourself  a  gunniff?" 

"Gunniff  in  general,  but  more  particularly  Hi  was  a 
snatcher,  w'ich  takes  precedence  of  the  mob  by  reason 
of  the  difficulty  of  'is  duties,  of  the  taker  as  well  as  of  the 
blokie  and  the  moke." 

"What's  the  English  for  blokie  and  moke?" 

'The  Henglish?    W'y,  Hi'm  amazed.     Don't  tell  me 


THE   INCENDIARY.  105 

you  bilked  'em  all  so  'andily  on  settin'  that  'ouse  afire. 
Hi  won't  believe  it  of  a  chummy  as  hasks  me  wot  a 
blokie  and  a  moke  is." 

"I  never  heard  the  words  before." 

"W'y,  the  mokes  do  the  scrappin'  wen  the  gent  'as 
been  relieved  of  'is  pocketbook,  w'ich  is  too  heavy  for 
'im  to  carry,  by  the  willin'  and  accommodatin'  little 
snatcher,  w'ich  was  me." 

"You  began  as  a  pickpocket?" 

"Pickpocket?  Wot  does  that  mean?  Hi  never  'card 
that  word.  We  were  hexpress  boys.  Is  pickpocket  the 
bloomin'  Americanese  for  that?  Hi'm  a-winkin'  at  you, 
Bobbs." 

This  conclusion  was  invariably  the  prelude  to  a  burst 
of  laughter,  which  was  so  droll  and  self-satisfied  that  it 
put  Robert  in  good  humor  in  spite  of  everything. 

"Four  of  us,  Bobbs,  and  that  makes  a  mob.  First  we 
picked  out  our  gent,  always  a  hold  gent  or  a  bloomin' 
swell,  a-standin'  in  the  crowd.  Four  of  us  playin',  romp- 
in',  friskin',  about  'im,  as  hinnocent  little  fellows  will,  bless 
'em  all,  w'en,  hall  of  a  sudden,  one  bumps  up  against 
the  bloomin'  gent's  pocket  not  with  'is  'ands,  you  know? 
The  bloomin'  gent  might  fancy  ee  was  a  hobject  of  hinter- 
est  to  us  if  ee  used  'is  'ands,  w'ich  ee  hisn't,  ho,  no !  That's 
the  blokie  wot  does  the  bumpin'.  Ee  wears  a  thin  shirt 
and  a  huncommonly  hintelligent  spine  w'ich  can  feel  a 
'ard  lump  in  a  gent's  pocket  surprisinV 

"The  blokie  ascertains  where  his  purse  is  located?" 

"And  the  snatcher,  w'ich  was  Wicked  Willie,  relieves 
'im  of  it  gently.'' 

"How?" 

"  'Ow?  By  makin'  a  hopportunity.  There's  nothin'  in 
this  world  like  makin'  a  hopportunity  for  yourself,  Bobbs. 
And  if  two  little  fellers  get  a-scrappin'  and  jostle  a  hold 
gent  hover,  and  a  crowd  comes  and  the  hold  gent  gets 
hinterested  in  separatin'  the  little  fellers,  and  givin'  them 
a  moral  lecture,  'ow's  ee  a-goin'  to  know  w'ere  'is  valu- 
ables went,  unless  ee  reaches  to  present  'em  with  a  'alf- 
crown  apiece,  w'ich  'he  don't." 

"Is  that  common  in  London?" 


106  THE   INCENDIARY. 

"Run  into  the  ground,  Bobbs,  completely  wulgarized. 
No  self-respectin'  gent  would  bring  up  'is  bantams  in 
that  line  nowadays.  But  hafterward,  w'en  Hi  was  a- 
lightin'  my  'Avana  cigars  with  the  old  lady's  ten-pun 
notes,  Hi  always  looked  back  on  my  rompin's  with  the 
mob  as  the  beginnin's,  'umble  but  'onorable,  of  a  great 
and  useful  career." 

During  the  talk  it  had  seemed  to  Robert  that  the 
cracksman's  voice  was  coming  nearer. 

"What's  making  that  noise,  Dobbs?" 

"Wot  noise,  chummy?" 

"That  little  scraping." 

"You  can  'ear  it?" 

"It's  close  to  the  chink." 

"That's  a  rat's  tooth  gnawin'.  Hi'm  a-winkin'  at  you, 
Bobbs." 

"Are  you  cutting  into  the  wall?" 

"Look  'ere,  chummy.  Dobbs  'as  given  hall  the  con- 
fidence so  far,  and  Bobbs  'as  given  none.  'Ow  is  Dobbs 
to  know  Bobbs  is  true  blue?" 

This  was  a  puzzler.  Robert  did  not  feel  prepared  to 
abet  prison-breach  yet,  if  that  was  the  cracksman's  aim, 
though  his  own  feeling  toward  the  authorities  was  any- 
thing but  submissive. 

"Hi'm  'urt,  Bobbs.  Hi've  a  sensitive  nature  and  a 
large  bump  of  curiosity,  both  of  w'ich  is  offended  by  my 
chummy's  lack  of  confidence  in  me.  But  Hi'll  prove 
Hi'm  true  blue,  wotever  Bobbs  says.  Chummies  is  chum- 
mies  and  bobbies  is  bobbies,  there's  the  distinction  Hi 
draw.  Do  you  'ear  the  tooth?" 

The  gnawing  sound  became  louder  at  Robert's  ear. 

"That's  a  hinstrument  Hi  hown  w'ich  Hi  wouldn't 
show  to  the  Pelican  'imself,  but  Bobbs  shall  see  it  and 
feel  it  if  he  likes." 

"Is  it  a  file?" 

"A  wery  little  file." 

"How  did  you  smuggle  it  in?" 

"Just  in  a  little  plug  o'  smoke,  Bobbs,  w'ich  a  friend 
sent  me  for  my  'ealth,  w'ich  is  poor,  as  my  bloomin'  as- 
sociates around  me  'ere  frequently  observe.  Nobody'd 


THE   INCENDIARY.  107 

look  for  a  little  rat's  tooth  laid  crossways  in  a  little  plug 
o'  smoke,  with  the  'andle  alongside  of  it,  would  they, 
Bobbs?" 

"Are  you  sawing  the  bars?" 

"Ham  I?    It's  all  done." 

"You've  sawed  them  through?" 

"And  poor  little  hinnocent  Bobbs  never  'card  me." 

Dobbs  went  off  in  a  peal  of  laughter. 

"But  how  do  you  hide  the  cuts  in  the  bars  when  any 
one  comes?'' 

"Wot'll  stop  a  leak  in  a  gas-pipe?  Soap.  Wot'll  'ide 
a  slice  in  a  sawed  bar?  Gum." 

"Gum?" 

"You  see,  chummy,  the  wentilation  is  poor  in  'ere. 
There's  a  green  mildew  on  my  floor  and  the  bloomin1 
spiders  is  too  silent  to  be  sociable  company.  But  you 
never  'card  me  'ollerin',  Bobbs." 

Indeed,  he  always  lay  low  during  the  outbreaks.  His 
methods  were  more  secretive.  He  was  the  villain  by 
trade. 

"But  my  sympathy  is  with  the  bloomin'  mutineers  hall 
the  time.  So  I  pick  away  with  my  rat's  tooth  w'en  the 
others  is  'ollerin'  and  even  green  little  hinnocent  Bobbs 
cawn't  'ear  me." 

The  rasping  sound  illustrated  his  meaning. 

"Ee  won't  trust  me,  but  Hi  trust  'im.  We'll  see  who 
can  keep  a  secret,  and  who  leaks." 

There  was  a  sound  as  if  something  had  been  slid  out 
of  the  wall  on  the  other  side  and  of  a  sudden  Dobbs' 
whisper  became  startlingly  distinct. 

"Honly  a  few  minutes,  Bobbs.  Hi  'old  the  plaster  in 
my  pockets,  and  the  rat's  tooth  in  my  fingers  w'ile  Hi 
gnaw  and  gnaw."  The  tool  began  working  rapidly  and 
dexterously.  In  a  short  time  Dobbs  spoke  again: 

"Tap  'em  till  you  feel  it  'ollow,  and  shove  on  the  'ollow 
spot." 

Robert  tapped  the  wall. 

"Shove  'arder." 

Robert  gave  a  stiff  push  with  his  elbow.  The  brick 
was  loosened  and  gave  way. 


108  THE   INCENDIARY. 

"Now,  catch  it,  chummy." 

Slowly  the  Englishman  shoved  the  brick  toward 
Robert,  till  it  protruded  from  his  side  of  the  cell.  It 
would  have  fallen  on  the  bed  if  Robert  had  not  caught 
it.  After  the  brick  came  a  hand  and  the  striped  sleeve  of 
a  convict's  arm.  It  was  a  characteristic  hand,  broad, 
with  spatulate  fingernails  and  a  black  star  on  the  fleshy 
ball  between  forefinger  and  thumb.  But  the  cracksman 
must  have  fallen  out  with  his  own  likeness  as  lago,  for 
his  thumb-nail  was  clean  as  a  whistle.  Between  the 
fingers  lay  a  tiny  file  of  rarest  workmanship.  Its  teeth 
were  set  almost  as  sharply  as  those  of  a  saw,  and  the  steel 
was  tempered  to  the  hardness  of  adamant. 

"  'Ow's  that  for  a  tooth,  Bobbs?" 

Floyd  took  it  for  a  moment,  but  a  step  was  heard 
coming  along  the  corridor.  It  was  Longlegs. 

"Quick,  Bobbs,  put  back  the  brick." 

Dobbs'  voice  grew  hoarse  with  excitement.  Robert 
replaced  the  block  on  his  side,  and  heard  the  convict 
doing  the  same  on  the  other.  As  Longlegs  passed, 
Dobbs  fell  into  a  tremendous  spasm  of  coughing.  The 
turnkey  hastened  to  the  end  of  the  corridor,  jangling 
his  keys  as  if  deriding  the  derision  with  which  he  was 
greeted  all  the  way.  He  had  run  his  gantlet  too  often  to 
heed  the  jeers  and  grimaces  he  met  There  was  a  sound 
as  if  he  were  unlocking  the  farther  door  and  then  re- 
locking  it  from  the  outside. 

"That's  a  very  useful  cough/'  whispered  Dobbs  to 
Floyd.  It  had  ceased  all  of  a  sudden.  "It  drives  un- 
desirable acquaintances  about  their  business  and  it  pro- 
cures me  admission  to  the  'ospital,  w'ich  is  a  sociable 
and  communicative  quarter.  Hi'm  a-winkin'.v 

Robert  was  beginning  to  understand  things.  The 
cracksman  was  malingering.  It  was  through  the  hospital 
that  he  communicated  with  his  friends  outside. 

"And  Hi  'ope  that  Dobbs  'as  given  ample  proof  to 
Bobbs  that  ee  his  deservin'  of  'is  confidence." 

Robert  looked  down  and  started  at  the  temptation  be- 
fore him.  The  file  lay  in  his  hand. 


THE   INCENDIARY.  109 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A    TRIP    TO    HILLSBOROUGH. 

The  life  of  Emily  Barlow  during  this  balmy  month  of 
summer  might  be  described  as  an  oscillation  in  criss-cross 
between  her  home  and  the  studio  in  one  direction,  and 
Shagarach's  office  and  the  state  prison  in  the  other.  For 
in  spite  of  Robert's  protest  she  had  returned  several  times 
to  pour  the  sunlight  of  her  sympathy  into  his  cell,  and 
the  convicts,  either  because  the  latent  manhood  in  them 
went  out  to  a  brave  girl  doing  battle  for  her  lover,  or 
because  Dobbs  had  exercised  his  influence  in  her  behalf, 
offered  no  repetition  of  their  first  affront. 

The  point  of  intersection  between  these  two  much- 
traveled  routes  was  a  certain  down-town  corner,  where 
Emily  was  already  becoming  a  familiar  figure  to  the 
policeman  who  escorted  ladies  over  the  crossing.  A 
more  disagreeable  feature  of  her  passage  of  this  point 
was  the  frequent  appearance  there  of  Mr.  Arthur  Ken- 
nedy Foxhall.  But  Emily,  like  other  golden-haired  girls, 
was  accustomed  to  rude  glances  from  men,  and  had 
learned  to  tolerate  them  as  we  accept  turbid  weather, 
muddy  streets  and  the  other  unavoidable  miseries  of  life. 

She  had  been  riding  in  the  steam  car  fully  fifteen  min- 
utes before  she  could  determine  in  what  direction  the 
hostile  influence  lay.  It  could  not  be  the  mere  uncer- 
tainty of  her  journey.  Even  if  Bertha  were  not  with  the 
Arnolds  at  Hillsborough,  it  did  not  follow  that  her  sweet- 
heart was  lost.  At  first  broadly  pervasive,  like  an  ap- 
proaching fog,  the  malign  presence  had  gradually  begun 
to  locate  itself  near  her,  and  it  was  with  a  sudden  shock, 
like  the  first  splash  of  a  long-delayed  shower,  that  she 
realized  she  was  under  observation  from  the  passenger 
in  front. 

He  had  never  turned  around  since  they  had  left  the 


110  THE   INCENDIARY. 

station.  To  all  appearances  he  was  buried  in  a  magazine. 
There  was  not  even  a  sidewise  position  to  indicate  that  he 
was  keeping  her  within  the  field  of  his  vision.  Yet 
Emily  knew  that  every  sense  of  the  man  was  alert  in  her 
direction,  and  that  by  a  sort  of  diffused  palpation,  like 
that  of  the  blind,  he  was  aware  of  her  slightest  gesture. 
She  thought  of  moving  back  to  escape  the  oppression, 
or  forward  into  another  car.  But  the  station  platforms 
on  either  side  lay  in  full  view  of  the  windows,  and  she 
felt  that  the  relief  would  be  only  temporary.  He  would 
follow  her  out. 

Who  was  the  stranger?  She  was  certain  she  had  never 
seen  his  round,  shaven  face  before,  yet  she  felt  that  it 
was  some  one  whose  fortunes  were  bound  in  with  hers, 
some  one  whom  she  would  recognize,  when  his  name 
was  uttered,  as  a  familiar.  All  efforts  to  dispel  this  dim 
fear  were  fruitless.  She  tried  to  gaze  out  at  the  skim- 
ming landscape,  but  some  subtle  force  gripped  her 
muscles  and  turned  her  head  to  the  front.  She  closed 
her  eyes,  but  the  image  still  floated  before  her  and  she 
knew  it  was  there  to  thwart  her  purpose  and  work  her 
lover  harm. 

Fully  fifty  minutes  of  the  ride  had  been  rendered 
wretched  to  Emily  by  these  doubts  and  fears,  when  the 
conductor  entered  to  collect  the  tickets  for  Hillsborough. 
The  man  in  front  seemed  to  jerk  himself  out  of  his  fit 
of  absorption.  He  fumbled  for  his  oblong  blue  card,  on 
which  Emily  espied  the  lettering  "Hillsborough."  But 
the  hand  which  delivered  it  struck  a  numbness  in  her 
heart.  It  was  broad  and  fleshy,  with  the  fingernails  which 
are  said  to  betray  the  professional  criminal,  and  a  star 
worked'  in  black  ink  on  the  protuberance  between  fore- 
finger and  thumb.  Robert  had  described  this  peculiarity 
in  his  cell-acqaintance,  Bill  Dobbs.  If  it  were  he,  this 
was  a  strange  situation  in  which  to  find  the  solitary 
cracksman.  Perhaps  it  was  one  of  his  "hospital  days." 

"Hillsborough!  Hillsborough!"  came  the  announce- 
ment from  both  ends  of  the  car,  followed  by  the  usual 
banging  of  doors.  Emily  started  for  the  rear  exit,  which 
was  the  nearer.  Once  alighted,  she  walked  leisurely 


THE   INCENDIARY.  Ill 

forward  along  the  platform.  A  side  glance  upward  re- 
vealed Bill  Dobbs  just  leaving  his  seat  and  passing  to  the 
rear,  exactly  in  her  footsteps.  When  he  caught  her  eye 
he  smiled.  It  was  true.  He  was  pursuing  her.  Her 
spirits  sank,  and  she  did  not  quicken  her  pace.  The 
engine  stood  champing  like  an  impatient  horse  be- 
side her,  for  she  was  almost  abreast  of  the  tender. 

"AH  aboard!"  the  uniformed  trainmen  were  crying. 
Emily  glanced  around.  Bill  Dobbs  was  just  entering 
the  station  door,  apparently  taking  no  more  notice  of 
her  than  of  the  drivers  soliciting  his  custom.  But  she 
knew  that  her  least  movement  was  under  his  cognizance. 
With  a  quick  jump  she  placed  her  foot  on  the  step,  and, 
catching  a  conductor's  hand,  remounted  the  moving 
train.  A  backward  glance,  as  she  sunk  into  her  seat, 
discovered  Bill  Dobbs  sauntering  up  the  road. 

An  interval  of  regret  seized  Emily  when  she  reviewed 
her  conduct  calmly.  Had  she,  indeed,  escaped  some  un- 
known danger?  Or  was  she  the  victim  of  a  girl's  foolish 
illusion?  She  was  beginning  to  chide  herself  as  a  prey 
to  superstition  when  the  realities  of  her  predicament  sud- 
denly forced  themselves  upon  her  by  the  reappearance 
of  the  conductor. 

"What  is  the  next  station,  please?" 

"Elmwood." 

"How  far  is  that?" 

"Two  miles." 

Two  miles.  To  be  carried  two  miles  beyond  Hills- 
borough  into  the  neighboring  township!  Possibly  the 
Arnold  estate  lay  midway  between,  but  it  was  more  prob- 
able that  she  would  be  footsore  and  spent  before  she 
reached  the  house  where  Bertha  was  supposed  to  be  liv- 
ing. There  was  an  extra  fare  to  pay,  a  brief  whirling 
glimpse  of  woodland  and  meadow,  and  then  the  engine 
slacked  up  again  before  a  cottage-like,  rustic  station. 

A  circle  of  12-year-olds  desisted  from  their  romp  to 
watch  the  sweet  lady  approaching  them. 

"Little  boy,  could  you  direct  me  to  the  Arnold  man- 
sion?" she  said  to  the  oldest. 


112  THE   INCENDIARY. 

"Arnold  mansion?  Don't  know  any  Arnolds  round 
here." 

"They  live  in  Hillsborough.    How  far  is  that?" 

"Oh,  I  know,"  put  in  a  tot  in  tires.  "That's  the  lady 
that  has  the  gardens  way  over  on  the  Hillsborough  line." 

"'Bout  five  miles  from  here,  isn't  it,  Chester?"  said 
another. 

"Can't  I  get  a  carriage  to  drive  me  there?''  Emily  felt 
equal  to  five  miles  or  twenty,  now  that  she  was  once 
started,  but  if  feasible  she  would  have  preferred  to  let 
some  four-footed  creature  do  the  walking. 

"Well,"  said  Chester,  "you  see  the  coach  is  up  at  the 
academy  and  I  guess  it  won't  come  down  till  the  game 
is  over.  You  might  get  a  wagon." 

"Oh,  well,  somebody  may  give  me  a  ride.  Which  way 
does  Hillsborough  lie?" 

"Follow  this  road  straight  along,  till  you  come  to  the 
bridge.  That's  the  Hillsborough  line  and  I  guess  any- 
body over  there  will  tell  you." 

Emily  thanked  her  guides  and  sped  off  on  her  long 
trudge.  Behind  her  she  heard  the  boys'  shrill  chirps, 
mingled  with  the  light  soprano  of  girlhood,  running  up 
and  down  the  bright  gamut  of  pleasure.  How  melo- 
dious their  joyous  inflections  were,  compared  with  the 
harsh  syllables  she  was  accustomed  to  hear  from  the  chil- 
dren of  the  pavements.  How  much  richer  and  deeper 
this  country  stillness  than  the  everlasting  murmur  of  the 
city,  which  makes  silence  only  a  figure  of  speech  to  the 
dwellers  within  its  walls. 

But  is  not  all  silence  figurative  and  relative,  thought 
Emily,  a  mere  hint  at  some  magnificent  placid  experience, 
only  possible  in  its  purity  to  the  inhabitants  of  outer 
space?  Even  the  countryside  was  not  still.  Plump  spar- 
rows, dusting  themselves  in  the  road,  never  ceased  their 
brawling.  The  shy  brown  thrush  swerved  across  her 
path  at  intervals  and  bubbled  his  song  from  the  thickets. 
The  meadowlark  left  his  tussock-hidden  nest  to  greet  the 
world  proudly  from  the  pasture  rock,  and  far  away  the 
phoebe's  plaintive  utterance  of  his  lost  love's  name 
pierced  the  sibilance  of  the  trees. 


THE   INCENDIARY.  113 

"There's  a  loam  for  you,"  said  an  old  gardener,  spading 
an  oval  plot  on  a  lawn.  His  bulbs  and  potted  sproutings 
were  arranged  at  one  side.  "Feel.  Twouldn't  soil  a 
queen's  hands.  Dry  as  meal  and  brown  as  a  berry. 
Same  for  two  feet  down.'7 

Emily  took  up  a  handful  to  please  the  old  man.  It 
crumbled  between  her  fingers  like  the  soft  brown  sugar 
which  grocers  display  in  crocks,  though  not,  as  youth- 
ful customers  sometimes  think,  to  be  scooped  and  pad- 
dled with  by  idle  hands. 

"I  can  see  roses  in  that,  miss,"  said  the  gardener,  turn- 
ing up  a  deep  spadeful  for  her  inspection.  But  time  was 
precious  and  she  shortened  the  commonplaces,  breaking 
away  toward  Hillsborough. 

All  that  was  visible  of  Elmwood  was  a  cluster  of  cot- 
tages about  the  station  and  a  few  outlying  farms.  A  brick 
building  crowning  its  highest  hill  was  probably  the 
academy  to  which  her  guides  had  referred.  On  both 
sides  the  country  opened  out  in  great  reaches  of  level 
fertility,  groves  of  dark  trees  rising  at  intervals  where 
the  pools  lay  that  nourished  their  roots.  Now  they 
sprung  up  by  the  roadside  and  overarched  her  with 
drooping  boughs. 

Looking  upward,  as  she  walked,  almost  alone,  Emily 
felt  herself  the  center  of  a  greater  mystery,  embracing, 
as  it  were,  that  in  which  her  sweetheart  was  entangled. 
Nights  of  vigil  had  begun  to  overstring  her  nerves.  That 
strange  doubling  of  impressions  which  attacks  us  in  such 
moods,  making  a  kind  of  mirage  of  the  mind,  came  over 
her.  Everything  about  her  seemed  familiar,  as  old  as 
her  infancy,  as  the  world  itself.  Elmwood!  She  had 
babbled  the  name  in  her  cradle  days,  her  earliest  rambles 
had  been  through  its  grassy  paths.  Yonder  silver-birch, 
whose  delicately  scalloped  foliage  rose  and  drooped  in 
long  strings,  as  if  the  foamy  spurt  of  a  fountain  should  be 
frozen  in  its  fall,  had  it  not  printed  itself  on  her  memory 
somewhere  a  thousand  times  before?  The  three  urchins 
passing  her  from  behind,  surely  their  faces  were  not 
strange. 

It  may  be  Emily  was  right  about  the  urchins  and  that 


114  THE    INCENDIARY. 

there  was  no  mirage  in  her  recollection  of  them.  She 
had  been  present  on  the  morning  when  Ellen's  body 
was  found  and  they  may  have  stood  by  her  side  in  the 
crowd. 

"I'm  stiff,  Whistler,"  said  one  of  them  in  the  broad 
drawl  of  the  city  gamin. 

"Don't  expect  to  be  limber  after  ridin'  twenty  miles 
on  a  car  truck,  do  yer,  Turkey?  What  place  is  this,  any- 
way?" 

"I'll  stump  yez  to  come  over  in  the  swamp  and  get 
some  little  frogs,"  said  urchin  number  three,  who  was  no 
other  than  our  crabbed  young  acquaintance,  Toot  Watts. 

Emily  wondered,  as  she  saw  them  disappear  down  in 
the  meadows,  whether  they  had  really  been  her  fellow- 
passengers  all  the  way  from  the  city.  How  dingy  they 
were!  Not  a  point  of  color  except  the  peachy  cheeks 
of  Whistler  and  the  golden  glow  at  the  end  of  Turkey's 
cigarette. 

When  she  reached  the  academy  playground  she 
thought  she  must  have  covered  two  miles.  There  was  a 
game  in  progress  between  two  baseball  clubs  of  rival 
academies  and  the  sight  of  sportive  youths  and  cheering 
onlookers  was  welcome  to  her  after  so  long  a  spell  of 
solitude.  She  was  unhappily  ignorant  of  the  rudiments 
of  that  most  scientific  of  games.  "Fly"  and  "grounder" 
to  her  were  simply  undistinguishable  terms  of  a  barbaric 
technical  jargon.  But  the  sparkle  of  eager  eyes  and  the 
motion  of  active  limbs,  set  off  by  graceful  costumes,  was, 
perhaps,  more  apparent  to  her  than  if  appreciation  of  the 
spectacle  had  been  overwhelmed  by  interest  in  the  match. 
,  What  breeding  in  the  salute,  in  the  very  tones,  when 
one  of  the  outfielders,  chasing  a  hit  out  of  bounds,  begged 
pardon  for  jostling  against  her  ever  so  little.  For  a  mo- 
ment, admiring  the  liberal  swing  of  his  arm,  as  he  made 
the  long  throw  home,  though  the  most  womanly  of  wo- 
men, she  envied  men  the  bodily  freedom  which  they  deny 
to  their  sisters.  Presumably  the  play  was  successful,  for 
its  result  was  greeted  with  plaudits,  and  the  club  afield 
closed  in  toward  the  plate. 

Beyond  the  ball  ground,  under  a  clump  of  willows, 


THE   INCENDIARY.  115 

Emily  was  surprised  to  come  upon  her  three  fellow- 
passengers  once  more.  They  must  have  cut  through 
the  meadows  on  the  other  side  of  the  academy.  The 
grove  made  a  screen  completely  hiding  them  from  the 
playground,  and  there  was  no  one  else  about.  Against 
a  rocky  wall  three  bicycles  were  resting. 

"Let's  take  a  ride,  fellers,"  said  the  one  who  had  been 
addressed  as  "Turkey." 

"Cheese  it.  There's  somebody  comin',"  protested  the 
Whistler. 

"Come  on.  I'm  sick  of  this.  Them  fellers  can't  play 
a  little  bit." 

"On'y  a  little  ride  around.  They'll  never  know,"  added 
Toot. 

Turkey  boldly  led  the  way,  mounting  like  a  veteran. 
Toot  followed  quickly,  and  finally  the  Whistler,  finding 
himself  abandoned  by  his  comrades,  swallowed  his 
scruples  and  joined  them.  His  was  a  girl's  wheel,  but 
he  overtook  his  companions  easily. 

"Boys!  Stop!"  Emily  found  herself  calling  out  a  re- 
monstrance. All  three  turned  their  heads  at  this  shrill 
command,  but  it  only  made  them  speed  away  more 
rapidly.  The  road  was  downhill  here,  and  the  pedals 
whirled  around  like  the  crank-shaft  of  a  flying  locomotive. 
Should  she  turn  back  and  give  the  alarm?  It  was  a 
good  stretch  for  limbs  already  weary  and  with  an  un- 
known number  of  miles  before  them.  Besides,  this  was 
probably  nothing  worse  than  a  boyish  prank.  If  only 
city-street  boys  were  like  country-academy  boys,  she 
sighed.  Perhaps  they  would  be  if  they  all  had  natty  uni- 
forms to  wear  and  a  bicycle  apiece.  No  doubt  the  gamins 
would  soon  turn  about,  although  they  acted  as  though 
her  outcry  had  frightened  them;  and  the'  last  she  saw 
of  them  they  were  pedaling  for  dear  life  toward  the  city, 
twenty  miles  away. 

•Circumstances  were  to  be  greatly  altered  when  Emily 
met  these  young  racers  again. 


116  THE   INCENDIARY. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

STAMPEDE  AND  AVALANCHE. 

Is  there  in  all  the  world  a  sight  more  wholesome  and 
comforting  to  the  tired  wayfarer  than  a  loaded  hay-cart  ? 
When  Emily  spied  one  ahead  of  her  she  felt  a  little  throb 
of  pleasure  in  her  bosom  and  at  once  hastened  her  step 
to  overtake  it.  The  farmer  was  asleep  on  the  seat,  with 
a  sundown  over  his  face. 

"Perhaps  I  had  better  wake  him,''  thought  Emily. 
"Won't  your  horse  run  away?" 

"Run  away?''  The  peaked  old  face  was  wide  open  of 
a  sudden.  "Guess  not,  miss,  not  with  that  load  on. 
Dobbin  ain't  no  pony.  Step  aboard?  How  far  are  you 
baound?" 

"I  am  looking  for  the  Arnold  mansion." 

"Arnold  mansion?  This  is  just  the  kerridge  you  want 
to  take.  Mrs.  Arnold's  a  putty  close  neighbor  of  aours." 

Grateful  for  the  offer,  Emily  climbed  into  the  creaky 
seat  under  the  fragrant,  overhanging  load. 

"You  b'long  in  Foxtaown,  I  s'pose?" 

"No.     I'm  from  the  city." 

"All  the  way  from  the  city?  Well,  I  declare.  I  thot  I 
knew  all  the  Elmwood  leddies.  I  s'pose  things  are  putty 
brisk  in  taown  these  days?" 

"Oh,  yes.  We  always  have  plenty  of  excitement.  Too 
much,  I  fear.  Some  of  us  miss  the  quiet  you  enjoy  out 
here  among  the  meadows." 

The  rustic  meditated  upon  this  a  moment,  chewing  a 
straw. 

"Speakin*  of  medders,  haow's  hay  sellin'?" 

"I  don't  know,  really,"  answered  Emily.  She  was  not 
informed  on  this  utilitarian  side  of  the  subject. 

"Just  been  shavin'  my  ten-acre  lot  daown  the  road. 
Did  most  o'  the  mowin'  ourselves,  me  and  Ike,  that's 


THE   INCENDIARY.  117 

my  brother,  with  the  Loomis  boy.  But  he  ain't  good  for 
much  except  forkin'  it  on.  You  wouldn't  s'pose  there 
was  a  clean  ton  o'  hay  on  this  wagon,  would  you?" 

"No,  indeed,"  answered  Emily.  This  was  true.  She 
would  not  have  ventured  any  supposition  at  all  as  to  the 
weight  of  the  hay. 

"Good  medder-grass,  too." 

"Do  you  live  in  Hillsborough?" 

"Aour  haouse  jest  abaout  straddles  the  line,  but  wife 
goes  to  meetin'  in  Elmwood." 

"I  suppose  she  likes  the  services  better?" 

"Nao.  You  see  the  Elmwood  parson  takes  all  our 
eggs,  and  wife  thinks  'twouldn't  do  to  spile  a  payin'  cus- 
tomer. Woa!  Here  comes  wife's  nephew,  Silas  Tomp- 
kins." 

"Evenin',  uncle,"  nodded  the  young  man  in  the  buggy. 

"Evenin',  Silas.    Been  down  to  the  pasture?" 

"Yaas." 

"Well,  haow  are  the  oats  lookin'?" 

"Comin'  putty  green,  Uncle  Silas,''  drawled  the  other, 
speeding  by. 

Emily  was  wondering  if  a  life  of  agricultural  labor  al- 
ways gives  such  a  vegetable  cast  to  people's  minds,  when 
a  clatter  of  hoofs  behind  caused  her  to  turn  her  head. 
The  cavalier  was  clothed  in  velvet  of  a  soft,  rich  bulrush- 
brown.  Just  as  he  passed  them  his  eye  caught  something 
afar  and  he  shouted  to  the  farmer: 

"Here's  a  runaway!    Hug  the  right  of  the  road!'' 

They  were  turning  a  bend,  but  across  the  angle  through 
the  bushes  a  pair  of  coal-black  horses  could  be  seen 
heading  toward  them.  The  farmer's  jerking  at  the  reins 
was  comical  but  effective.  In  a  twinkling  he  had  his  nag 
squeezed  against  the  wall  which  bounded  the  narrow 
road. 

"Get  up,  Aladdin !"  whispered  the  rider,  and  the  horse, 
a  powerful  roadster  or  steeplechaser,  yet  with  limbs  like 
a  stag's,  cantered  forward,  as  if  to  meet  the  wild  blacks. 
But  suddenly  his  master  turned  him  about  and  began 
trotting  gently  back,  keeping  to  the  other  side  of  the 
road  and  turning  his  head  over  his  left  shoulder  toward 


118  THE    INCENDIARY. 

the  approaching  runaways.  As  they  slewed  around  the 
bend  their  coachman  was  flung  from  his  seat  into  the 
grass  border  of  the  roadside. 

"Rosalie!"  exclaimed  the  waiting  cavalier,  cutting  his 
horse  over  the  flanks.  It  bounded  away  abreast  of  the 
team.  Emily  remembered  a  vague  whirl  of  spangled 
reins  and  a  frightened  face  of  rare  beauty  blushing 
through  its  silver  veil. 

"He's  killed!"  she  cried,  dismounting  and  running  to- 
ward the  coachman.  But  the  grass  was  like  a  cushion 
in  its  midsummer  thickness,  and  he  had  already  picked 
himself  up  uninjured,  save  for  bruises  and  a  tattered 
sleeve. 

"It  was  the  gobbler  frightened  'em,'  he  said,  starting 
off  at  a  lame  dog-trot  after  the  retreating  carriage.  Emily 
turned  just  in  time  to  witness  a  rare  exhibition  of  cool- 
ness and  skill.  The  chestnut  had  kept  abreast  of  the 
blacks  with  ease.  At  the  right  moment  his  rider,  cling- 
ing to  the  saddle  and  stirrup  like  a  cossack,  reached  over 
with  his  left  hand  and  caught  the  reins  of  the  foaming 
pair.  Then  gradually  he  slowed  up  his  steeplechaser, 
jerking  powerfully  at  the  bridles.  The  added  weight  was 
too  much  for  the  runaways  to  pull,  and  all  three  were 
ambling  peacefully  when  they  faded  from  sight  in  a 
cloud  of  dust. 

"I  guess  we'll  start  for  hum,"  said  the  farmer.  Emily 
was  standing  with  her  finger  on  her  lip,  unconscious  of 
his  presence. 

"Putty  slick  on  a  horse,  ain't  he?'' 

"Who?" 

"Young  Arnold.  He  kin  stick  on  like  a  clothes-pin,  I 
tell  yew." 

"Is  that  Harry  Arnold?" 

"  'Tain't  no  one  else." 

Emily  remembered  how  his  expression  had  changed 
when  he  recognized  the  lady  in  peril  as  "Rosalie,"  and 
felt  like  asking  the  farmer  if  he  knew  her.  But  Griggs 
(she  now  learned  his  name)  was  prosing  on  about  his  new 
barn,  and  she  relapsed  into  silence.  The  rest  of  their 
road  was  an  avenue  of  elms.  Through  their  interstices 


THE  INCENDIARY.  119 

smiled  the  calm  blue  of  the  late  afternoon  sky,  tempered 
by  contrast  with  the  green  of  the  foliage.  It  was  the 
first  time  she  had  ever  observed  this  rare  harmony  of 
colors. 

"Woa!  There!"  said  Griggs.  "I'll  set  you  daown 
here.  The  Arnolds'  house  is  up  yonder  over  the  hill. 
They  ain't  p'ticler  friends  of  aours,  but  the  help  come  over 
and  buy  wife's  cream." 

"Have  they  a  girl  in  help  named  Bertha  Lund?" 

"I  s'pose  wife  knows  the  women-folks.  I  don't,"  re- 
plied the  old  man,  energetically  reaching  for  his  rake. 

"A  new  servant,  this  is." 

As  if  to  answer  her  question,  there  came  a  loud  bark 
from  the  little  woody  knoll  on  the  right  of  the  road,  and 
a  great  St.  Bernard  came  bounding  down.  It  was  Sire, 
who  had  recognized  Emily.  She  knew  that  he  had  been 
left  in  Bertha's  charge  and  probably  the  housemaid  was 
behind  him. 

"Sire!  Sire!"  her  cheerful  voice  was  heard  calling 
through  the  stillness.  How  fresh  she  looked  with  her 
soft  country  bloom  and  a  golden  tan. 

"Is  it  you,  Miss  Barlow?"  cried  Bertha,  opening  her 
eyes  in  amazement.  A  cream  pitcher  in  one  hand  re- 
vealed her  errand,  but  Farmer  Griggs  was  already  half- 
way to  his  new  barn,  which  lay  fifty  yards  off  the  left  of 
the  road. 

"Yes,  Bertha,"  answered  Emily,  fondling  Sire,  who 
seemed  almost  to  know  that  she  bore  him  a  message  from 
his  master.  "I  have  come  all  the  way  out  to  meet  you." 

"How  is  poor  Mr.  Robert?" 

"Not  very  well  contented  with  his  present  quarters." 

"He  is  still  in  jail?  Ah,  poor  young  man!  What  a 
shame!  And  Ellen  gone,  too!  It  was  the  beginning  of 
trouble  for  all  of  us  when  the  old  professor  died." 

"It  wasn't  easy  to  find  you,  Bertha.  You  didn't  leave 
your  address  with  Mrs.  Christenson." 

"Indeed  I  did  not."  Bertha  gave  an  independent  toss 
of  her  head.  "I  had  no  wish  to  be  chased  by  her  and 
coaxed  to  come  back,  and  I'm  very  well  satisfied  where 


120  THE   INCENDIARY. 

I  am,  with  my  $5  and  light  duties  and  out  of  the  city  and 
as  kind  treatment  as  if  I  was  a  visitor." 

Emily  thought  she  might  understand  the  reason  of  this 
bountiful  hospitality. 

"Mr.  Shagarach,  the  lawyer,  who  is  defending  Robert, 
suggested  that  I  come  and  see  you.  You  were  so  near 
the  fire  when  it  broke  out,  he  thought  that  you  might 
know  something  that  would  help  our  side." 

"That  I'll  tell  heartily.    They  sha'n't  tie  my  tongue." 

"You  don't  believe  Robert  set  the  fire?" 

"No  more  than  I  did  or  Sire." 

Emily  looked  at  the  dog,  who  was  crouched  before 
them.  He  had  lifted  his  head  at  the  mention  of  his  name. 

"Ah,  Sire,  you  know  the  solution  of  all  this  mystery, 
don't  you?  And  you'd  tell  it  if  you  could." 

Sire  barked  an  answer  to  this  appeal  and  turned  his 
head  away,  blinking,  as  old  dogs  do. 

"But  who  could  have  done  it,  Bertha?" 

"Nobody  in  all  the  world.  It  just  happened,  like  the 
other  fire  before." 

"Was  there  another  fire  before?"  asked  Emily,  all 
eagerness. 

"Two  or  three  years  ago  we  had  a  fire  in  the  study." 

"Tell  me  about  it." 

"Oh,  the  professor  had  just  gone  upstairs  a  minute  and 
when  I  went  in  the  big  waste  basket  was  blazing  up." 

"There  wasn't  much  damage  then?" 

"If  I  hadn't  opened  the  window  and  thrown  it  out  on 
the  sidewalk  the  whole  house  might  have  been  burned. 
Why,  the  study  was  nothing1  but  a  tinder-box  with  the 
books  on  the  shelves  and  magazines  and  papers  always 
thrown  about." 

"After  the  fire  had  once  started,  I  can  see  how  it  would 
spread.  But  the  mystery  is,  how  did  it  start?  You  never 
followed  the  first  fire  up?'' 

"Indeed  we  did.  The  professor  was  careful  to  follow 
it  up,  but  they  could  find  nobody  then  and  they'll  find 
nobody  now.  It  was  just  the  will  of  heaven." 

"I  wish  you  could  have  told  about  this  other  fire  at  the 
examination,  Bertha." 


THE   INCENDIARY.  121 

"I  had  it  in  my  mind  to  tell,  but  the  little  thread  of 
a  man  made  me  so  cross  with  his  nagging,  it  all  flew 
out  of  my  head." 

"Robert — was  Robert  in  the  house  when  the  other  fire 
happened?" 

"Yes.  I  remember  calling  him,  and  he  flew  downstairs 
four  at  a  time  and  stamped  out  the  sparks  on  the  carpet." 

''What  time  of  day  was  it?" 

"I'm  not  good  to  remember  time.  It  was  daytime,  I 
know." 

"Forenoon  or  afternoon?" 

Bertha's  knitted  forehead  brought  no  clarity  to  her 
recollections. 

"I've  forgotten,  Miss  Barlow.  I  know  it  was  the  hot 
summer  time,  but  forenoon  or  afternoon,  that's  all  gone 
from  me  now." 

"But  you  will  try  to  bring  it  back,  Bertha?  It  may 
be  important.  Mr.  Shagarach  is  a  wonderfully  wise  man 
who  could  build  up  a  great  explanation  out  of  a  little 
thing  like  that.  You  will  tell  him  all  you  know  if  he 
comes  to  see  you?" 

"I'll  be  as  free-spoken  as  I  choose,  and  forty  inspectors 
won't  stop  me." 

"Could  you  describe  the  study  again,  Bertha,  just  as  it 
looked  when  you  were  dusting  it,  with  Robert  standing 
over  the  hearth?" 

"Why,  you  know  the  room,  Miss  Barlow — square, 
high-studded,  with  two  windows,  the  professor's  desk  at 
one  and  the  bird  cage  before  the  other.  Shelves  and 
books  all  round,  hundreds  of  them,  and  magazines  and 
papers  scattered  about.  Chairs,  pictures,  the  safe  and  the 
professor's  things  just  as  he  left  them — his  slippers  on  the 
floor,  his  spectacles  and  bible  on  the  desk,  his  dressing- 
gown  over  the  back  of  the  arm-chair '' 

"And  a  waste-basket?'' 

"Oh,  yes,  the  big  waste-basket  always  beside  his  desk. 
The  professor  had  so  much  writing  to  do." 

"Was  it  full?" 

"All  full  of  black  wrapping  paper  that  came  off  of  his 
books.  The  professor  got  so  many  books.'' 


122  THE   INCENDIARY. 

"And  his  safe  with  the  papers  in  it?" 

"Nobody  ever  touched  it  but  the  professor.  At  least, 
I  never  meddled  with  it." 

Emily  noticed  the  emphasis  Bertha  laid  on  the  first  per- 
son, but  an  unwelcome  interruption  prevented  further 
disclosures. 

"The  knoll  which  Bertha  and  Sire  had  descended  made 
a  grade  like  the  pitch  of  an  old  gable  roof.  Toward  the 
top  a  tempting  tussock  of  clover  lay  in  sight,  scenting 
the  atmosphere  and  titillating  the  nostrils  of  the  horse 
attached  to  Farmer  Griggs'  hay-cart.  Dobbin  was  ordi- 
narily a  staid  and  trustworthy  animal,  who  might  be  left 
alone  for  hours ;  but  on  this  occasion  his  carnal  appetite 
overmastered  his  sense  of  duty  and  led  him  gradually 
higher  and  higher  up  the  grade  toward  the  odorous  herb- 
age. The  first  hint  the  two  girls  had  of  the  peril  which 
was  imminent  was  when  they  heard  the  voice  of  the 
farmer  shouting  from  the  barn. 

Turning  in  that  direction,  they  beheld  him  running 
toward  them,  hat  in  hand,  as  if  racing  for  a  guerdon,  and 
brandishing  a  pitchfork.  Whether  they  or  some  one  else 
were  the  object  of  his  outcries  they  could  not  in  the  con- 
fusion of  the  moment  determine.  But  the  doubt  was 
speedily  settled  by  the  occurrence  of  the  very  catastrophe 
which  Farmer  Griggs  was  hastening  to  avert. 

Dobbin  had  just  climbed  within  reach  and  was  relish- 
ing the  first  morsel  of  his  stolen  supper,  when  suddenly 
the  top  of  the  hay  load,  which  was  tipped  up  to  an  exceed- 
ingly steep  angle  by  his  ascent  of  the  knoll,  slid  down  like 
a  glacier  and  deposited  itself  at  the  feet  of  the  startled 
girls. 

But  this  was  not  all.  From  the  midst  of  it  the  figure 
of  a  man,  badly  shaken  but  unhurt,  arose  and  straightened 
itself  out. 

Both  girls  gave  a  shriek  in  unison.  Emily  recognized, 
to  her  astonishment  and  dismay,  the  face  of  her  train 
companion,  the  supposed  Bill  Dobbs.  But  Bertha's  sur- 
prise was  quickly  converted  into  merriment. 

"Why,  Mr.  McCausland,  what  a  tumble !"  she  laughed, 
just  as  Farmer  Griggs  arrived. 


THE   INCENDIARY.  123 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

REPORTING   TO  HEADQUARTERS. 

"McCausland!" 

Emily  bit  off  the  exclamation  just  a  moment  too  late. 
This,  then,  was  the  interesting  convict  who  had  tried  to 
worm  himself  into  Robert's  confidence.  This  was  Shaga- 
rach's  vaunted  opponent,  the  evil  genius  arrayed  against 
the  good,  in  mortal  combat  for  her  sweetheart's  life.  With 
Sire  worrying  his  heels,  Bertha  holding  her  side  in  un- 
checked laughter,  and  Emily  eying  him  with  an  expres- 
sion of  amazement  gradually  turning  to  scorn,  the  de- 
tective looked  for  a  moment  as  if  he  would  have  resigned 
his  whole  reputation  to  be  elsewhere.  But  suddenly  he 
righted  himself  and  led  the  horse  around  to  the  road, 
snatched  Griggs'  pitchfork  and  was  tossing  the  spilled 
hay  back  into  place  before  the  fuming  farmer  realized 
what  he  was  about. 

"This  is  Miss  Barlow/'  said  Bertha.  "But  I  suppose 
you  don't  need  an  introduction." 

"We  were  fellow-passengers  on  the  train  coming 
down." 

"Don't  tell  me,  after  that,  we  servants  are  the  only 
keyhole  listeners." 

"Mr.  McCausland  makes  eavesdropping  a  science," 
added  Emily,  who  was  not  at  all  disposed  to  spare  him. 

"There!" 

The  inspector  had  finished  his  task.  As  the  old  farmer 
led  his  recovered  property  back  to  the  barn  he  never 
relaxed  his  hold  on  the  bridle  and  vented  his  wrath  all 
the  way  on  the  offending  beast.  When  he  had  disap- 
peared inside  his  barn,  they  could  still  hear  him  scolding. 

"Tarnal  idiot!  Yer  fool,  yer!  I'll  shorten  yer  fodder 
for  yer!  I'll  teach  yer  to  stand!  Woa!" 

"Eavesdropping!    What  nonsense!"  said  McCausland, 


124  THE   INCENDIARY. 

smiling.  Shorn  of  its  mustache  his  face  looked  more 
ferret-like  than  ever  and  one  could  excuse  Tristram 
March's  estimate  of  its  owner's  villainy.  "I  had  to  leave 
Hillsborough  on  the  6:21,  and  natural  impatience  led 
me  to  follow  the  lazy  girl  who  went  after  the  cream  for 
my  supper." 

"It  took  you  a  long  time  to  make  up  that  fib,"  retorted 
Bertha,  but  she  took  the  hint  and  went  over  to  the  farm- 
house to  fill  her  pitcher. 

"Perhaps  you  will  join  me  at  lunch,  Miss  Barlow.  You 
may  be  taking  the  same  train  and  I  shall  have  the  pleasure 
of  your  company  to  the  station  in  Mrs.  Arnold's  car- 
riage," 

"No,  I  thank  you.  I  will  not  trouble  Mrs.  Arnold 
either  for  lunch  or  for  the  carriage." 

"Or,  Mr.  McCausland?" 

"Or  Mr.  McCausland." 

Emily  spoke  in  a  tone  which  was  meant  to  convey 
that  there  were  too  many  unforgiven  injuries  between 
them  to  permit  her  to  accept  favors  from  either  of  them. 
She  looked  at  her  watch.  It  was  5  :y>. 

"There  is  no  other  conveyance  from  here  and  the  sta- 
tion is  three  miles,"  urged  the  inspector,  with  good  humor. 

"I  can  walk  there  in  an  hour." 

"You  must  have  walked  a  part  of  the  way  from  Elm- 
wood." 

"Please  do  not  press  me,  Mr.  McCausland." 

He  muttered  something  about  "spunk"  as  he  looked 
after  the  girl's  slight  figure  retreating.  Then  he  gallantly 
relieved  Bertha  of  her  foaming  pitcher  and  sauntered  with 
her  back  to  the  Arnold  mansion. 

When  Emily  reached  the  Hillsborough  station  she  was 
indeed  a  footsore  girl,  fully  convinced  that  country  miles 
are  as  indefinite  as  nautical  knots,  but  in  the  few  mo- 
ments she  had  to  spare  before  the  train  came  by  she 
purchased  a  lunch  of  fruit,  which  refreshed  her  a  little. 
Before  they  were  well  out  of  the  station  Inspector  Mc- 
Causland came  up  and  asked  permission  to  occupy  the 
seat  at  her  side. 

During  her  walk  Emily  had  come  around  to  a  gentler 


THE   INCENDIARY.  125 

view  of  the  detective's  behavior.  She  could  not  look  back 
on  the  afternoon's  events  without  a  certain  complacency. 
For  the  true  aspect  of  the  case  against  Robert,  as  a 
grand  chess  duel  between  the  criminal  lawyer  and  the 
detective,  was  gradually  dawning  upon  her,  and  surely  in 
the  discovery  of  Bertha's  hiding-place  and  the  unmasking 
of  Bill  Dobbs,  white,  her  champion,  had  gained  two 
positive  advantages  over  black,  the  enemy's  color.  Be- 
sides, loyal  as  she  was  to  her  sweetheart,  with  that  single- 
ness of  heart  which  we  sometimes  call  womanly  preju- 
dice, there  was  a  genial  persistency  in  McCausland  few 
could  resist.  So  she  forbore  to  fire  upon  his  flag  of 
truce  and  assented  to  the  request. 

They  talked  for  the  most  part  of  irrelevant  matters,  and 
she  herself  did  not  like  to  broach  the  subject  of  all  sub- 
jects. Only  once  did  he  appear  to  glance  at  his  official 
relation  to  her. 

"The  fisherman,  Miss  Barlow,  doesn't  enjoy  the  death 
struggles  of  the  mackerel  in  his  nets,"  he  said.  "But 
he  is  obliged  to  see  that  they  do  not  escape." 

"Then  you  do  disagreeable  work  from  a  sense  of  public 
duty?" 

"And  for  the  support  of  my  family,"  he  added.  "But 
as  we've  arrived  at  the  city  perhaps  I'd  better  return 
these  now." 

So  saying,  he  laid  Emily's  watch,  pocketbook  and 
brooch  in  her  lap.  Dumfounded,  she  felt  of  her  bodice, 
where  these  articles  should  be.  The  neck-clasp  was  miss- 
ing, the  watch-pocket  empty.  McCausland  had  picked 
her  pockets  while  they  were  conversing. 

"Set  a  thief  to  catch  a  thief,"  said  the  detective, 
still  smiling,  but  raising  his  hat  with  respect.  Emily 
smiled  herself,  less  at  the  prank  he  had  played  than  be- 
cause she  thought  she  had  good  reasons  to  be  cheerful. 
But  she  did  not  communicate  them  to  Richard  McCaus- 
land, alias  William  Dobbs. 

It  happened  that  her  course  through  town  took  her  by 
Shagarach's  office.  It  was  nearly  7:30,  but  there  was  a 
light  in  his  window  still,  and  an  impulse  seized  her  to 
convey  the  glad  tidings  of  her  successful  journey  ta  the 


126  THE   INCENDIARY. 

lawyer.  So  she  picked  her  way  across  the  street  and 
tripped  light-heartedly  up  the  stairs. 

"You  bring  good  news,  Miss  Barlow,"  said  Shaga- 
rach,  a  little  heavily.  He  was  standing  at  the  window 
with  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  his  back  turned,  but 
there  was  power  in  his  very  carelessness.  If  he  could 
not  pick  pockets  he  could  master  men. 

"How  could  you  know?"  she  asked. 

"I  simply  heard  you  coming.  There  is  mood  in  a 
footstep,"  he  answered,  facing  her  and  offering  a  chair, 
while  he  sat  himself  at  the  table  with  his  arms  folded 
expectantly.  Through  the  open  window  where  he  had 
been  standing  Emily  felt  the  cool  evening  air,  dim  with 
dew  it  held  in  suspension;  and  far  away  the  hill-built  cap- 
itol  of  the  city,  printed  darkly  against  the  blood-orange 
sunset,  seemed  lifted  into  the  uppermost  heavens,  at  an 
immeasurable  height  from  earth.  Had  this  been  the 
object  of  Shagarach's  contemplation? 

"What  is  the  result?" 

"Bertha  is  found  again.5' 

"At  Arnold's?" 

"At  Arnold's." 

Knowing  his  taste  for  brevity,  she  condensed  the  story 
of  her  day's  wanderings,  not  omitting,  however,  the  inci- 
dents which  seemed  to  connect  McCausland  with  the 
pretended  English  cracksman. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  narrative  she  perceived  an  un- 
wonted wandering  of  attention  in  her  listener.  A  trio  of 
street  minstrels,  with  flute,  violin  and  harp,  had  set  up 
a  passionate  Spanish  dance  tune,  just  far  enough  away 
to  afford  that  confused  blending  of  harmonies  which  adds 
so  much  to  the  effect  of  carelessly  rendered  music.  Shag- 
arach's eyes  had  left  Emily's  face  and  strayed  toward  the 
window.  Twice  he  had  asked  her  to  repeat,  as  though 
he  were  catching  up  a  lost  thread.  At  last  he  arose 
abruptly  and  shut  down  the  sash,  muffling  the  minstrelsy 
at  the  height  of  its  wildest  abandon. 

"Our  street  troubadours  distract  you?''  asked  Emily. 

"The  violinist  is  a  gypsy,"  said  the  lawyer,  shutting  his 
eyes.  Emily  remembered  this  saying1  afterward,  and 


THE   INCENDIARY.  127 

even  now  she  began  to  understand  why  a  certain  com- 
passion, mingled  with  the  fear  and  admiration  which  this 
man  so  gifted,  but  so  meanly  surrounded,  aroused. 

"That  is  all?''  he  said.  She  thought  it  amounted  to  a 
good  deal.  "I  fear  Miss  Barlow  may  not  descend  the 
stairs  as  gayly  as  she  mounted  them." 

"What  have  I  done?  How  have  I  blundered?"  she 
asked  herself. 

"To  have  caught  McCausland  napping  was  a  pleasant 
diversion,  but  of  little  practical  value.  He  is  merely  play- 
ing the  nest-egg  game." 

"The  nest-egg  game?'' 

"Dressing  up  as  a  convict,  locating  himself  in  the 
adjoining  cell  and  confessing  some  enormity  himself  so 
as  to  induce  his  bird  to  lay.  The  trick  has  ah  excellent 
basis  in  psychology,  since  the  second  law  of  life  is  to 
imitate." 

"And  the  first?" 

"To  devour.  You  think  that  crude?"  he  added,  noting 
Emily's  look.  "Ah,  fact  is  crude,  and  we  must  never 
shirk  fact.  But  since  Floyd  is  innocent  it  could  have 
availed  McCausland  little  to  continue  his  harmless  efforts 
to  wheedle  a  confession  out  of  him — which  I  presume  you 
will  now  interrupt." 

"Not  necessarily,"  answered  Emily,  who  would  by  no 
means  be  sorry  to  prolong  the  joke  at  the  expense  of  the 
subtle  inspector. 

"But  that  our  discovery  of  Bertha's  hiding-place 
should  be  known  to  McCausland  is  a  little  unfortunate. 
She  may  be  removed  at  once,  this  time  beyond  our  reach." 

"Is  he  so  suspicious  a  man?" 

"When  fighting  wealth." 

"But  we  are  not  rich." 

"You  forget  the  $5,000,000  and  McCausland's  point  of 
view." 

Emily  colored  slightly.  This  was  the  bitter  fruit  of 
her  wasted  afternoon,  her  six  miles'  walk,  her  long  fast. 
But  she  kept  these  things  to  herself.  And  Shagarach 
did  not  look  at  all  perturbed.  John  Davidson  had  told 
her  that  he  was  accounted  by  some  a  trifle  slack  in  the 


128  THE   INCENDIARY. 

preparation  of  his  matter,  trusting  overmuch  to  his  power 
in  the  cross-examination  to  bring  out  the  truth.  His  rec- 
ord, however,  showed  that  he  did  not  overrate  his  own 
skill.  As  certain  clever  exhibitors,  blindfolded,  will  take 
the  arm  of  a  reluctant  guide,  and,  by  noting  his  resist- 
ances, compel  him  to  lead  them  to  some  article  in  hiding, 
so  Shagarach  followed  the  windings  and  subterfuges  of 
unwilling  testimony,  bringing  witnesses  at  last  face  to 
face  with  the  truth  they  had  striven  to  conceal. 

"Our  cause  has  assumed  a  novel  aspect,''  said  the  law- 
yer, opening  a  drawer  and  producing  three  or  four  let- 
ters. "I  am  the  victim  of  an  anonymous  correspondent." 

Emily  glanced  at  the  envelopes.  Their  penmanship 
appeared  to  be  that  of  an  illiterate  person,  the  "Shaga- 
rach'' in  particular  bearing  a  strong  resemblance  to  the 
four  priceless  if  illegible  autographs  which  at£  the  only 
relics  left  us  bearing  the  immediate  personal  impress  of 
the  man  of  Stratford. 

"The  earlier  epistles  merely  threaten  me  with  death  in 
its  least  desirable  forms  if  I  do  not  surrender  my  brief 
for  Robert  Floyd.  The  writer  appears  to  cherish  a 
grievance  against  your  friend.  Had  he  any  enemies?" 

"Not  that  I  know  of." 

"Very  well.  It  appears  I  was  to  suffer  martyrdom  for 
his  sake.  Today's  mail,  however,  discloses  a  change  of 
policy.  The  handwriting  is  the  same,  but  sloped  back- 
ward to  disguise  it." 

He  passed  a  letter  over  so  that  Emily  might  read  the 
wretched  scrawl. 

"Dear  Mr.  Shagarack:  I  mean  to  let  you  know  that  I  have 
discovered  a  important  klew  which  will  save  your  cliant. 
Pleeze  be  at  the  bridge,  the  Pere  leading  over  to  the  island 
Fort,  at  8  o'clock  (8  P.  M.)  sharp  To-morrow,  and  I  mean  to 
let  you  know  my  klew  for  nothing.  If  you  do  not  cum,  yore 
life  is  not  worth  living.  You  will  be  torn  into  on  site." 

A  rude  skull  and  crossbones  was  figured  in  place  of  a 
signature. 

"Don't  you  think  the  writer's  brain  has  a  flaw  in  it?" 
asked  Emily. 

"Possibly.    There  is  something  not  entirely  consistent 


THE   INCENDIARY.  129 

in  the  promise  to  rend  me  in  two  if  I  do  not  accept  his 
assistance." 

"Or  hers?" 

"You  do  not  recognize  the  handwriting?" 

"It  might  be  that  of  any  very  ignorant  person.  There 
is  almost  no  style  or  character." 

"Rather  masculine.  It  may  be  some  irresponsible 
being,  as  you  say.  But  there  is  a  singular  accent  of  sin- 
cerity in  the  earlier  letters;  a  genuine  hatred  of  Floyd." 

"You  will  not  venture  to  the  meeting-place  at  that 
hour?" 

"I  hardly  fear  Mr.  Skull-and-Crossbones." 

Shagarach  drew  a  delicate  revolver  from  his  lowest 
drawer.  It  lay  like  a  toy  in  his  small  white  palm,  but 
Emily  could  not  repress  a  shudder. 

"You  do  not  value  my  advice.  You  ask  it,  but  you  will 
not  follow  it?" 

"The  chance  of  seeing  and  studying  my  correspondent 
is  too  good  to  be  lost." 

"Do  you  really  read  minds,  Mr.  Shagarach?"  asked 
Emily. 

"Not  in  the  charlatan's  sense,  certainly  not.  But  the 
dominant  thought  in  every  man's  soul — self,  money, 
pleasure,  fame — is  written  plainly  on  his  face.  The 
trained  psychologist  can  predict  much  from  a  photo- 
graph." 

Eight!  The  ringing  bells  recalled  Emily  to  thoughts 
of  home.  Almost  simultaneously  a  knock  on  the  door 
ushered  in  a  visitor,  who  proved  to  be  Mr.  Arthur  Kenne- 
dy Foxhall.  The  opium-eater  was  feathered  in  peacock 
fashion  this  evening,  but  no  brilliancy  of  plumage  could 
offset  the  under-vitalized  appearance  of  his  tenuous  form 
and  sallow  cheeks.  He  started  on  recognizing  Emily  and 
appeared  confused,  but  lifted  his  hat  with  a  sweep  meant 
to  be  grandly  courteous. 

"I  beg  pardon.  Shall  I  be  so  fortunate  as  to  have 
the  privilege  of  an  introduction?" 

"I  was  just  about  to  leave,"  said  Emily,  passing  him 
without  a  glance.  "Good-evening,  Mr.  Shagarach." 

"Good-evening." 


130  THE   INCENDIARY. 

Shagarach  attended  her  to  the  door  with  the  deference 
he  habitually  showed,  and  she  felt  his  strong  presence 
like  a  zone  of  protection  thrown  around  her. 

"You  are  punctual,  Kennedy,"  said  Shagarach,  return- 
ing to  the  newcomer.  He  had  clicked  his  desk  to  and 
donned  a  hat  and  coat  while  the  other  was  drawling  out 
an  answer. 

"The  Dove-Cote  is  just  about  on." 

Meanwhile  Emily,  as  Shagarach  predicted,  had  de- 
scended the  stairs  much  more  doubtfully  than  she  had 
mounted  them.  But  she  clung  to  her  woman's  faith  that 
even  the  interrupted  conversation  with  Bertha  might 
yield  items  which  would  germinate  at  a  later  stage ;  and, 
empty  though  it  were,  her  victory  over  the  great  McCaus- 
land  was  one  of  those  successes  which  give  cheer  to  a 
young  campaigner. 

Sustained  by  these  hopes,  she  rode  home  at  last  and 
related  the  whole  story  of  her  day's  adventures  and  mis- 
adventures to  her  wondering  mother  over  the  supper 
that  had  been  cold  for  two  hours. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

INSIDE  THE  DOVE-COTE. 

"Here  we  are!"  cried  Kennedy. 

The  sudden  flood  of  light  dazzled  Shagarach's  eyes. 
Glittering  chandeliers  threw  prismatic  reflections  upon 
the  twenty  or  thirty  occupants  of  the  room,  many  of  them 
in  full  evening  dress,  like  his  escort,  and  several  adding 
the  sparkle  of  diamonds  to  the  iridescence  of  mirrors  and 
cut  glass  around  them.  Across  one  corner  stretched  an 
arc-shaped  bar,  from  which  two  colored  waiters  served 
liquors  to  the  patrons,  while  others  at  intervals  disap- 
peared behind  curtains  and  reappeared  balancing  plat- 
ters of  light  delicious  viands  for  the  men  who  chatted 
at  the  tables.  These  were  octagon-topped  and  covered 
with  plush.  The  carpeted  floor  yielded  like  turf  to  the 


THE  INCENDIARY.  131 

feet.  The  conversation  ran  low.  The  servants  whispered 
their  requests  and  answers.  It  was  an  atmosphere  ol 
stealth  and  suppression. 

The  getting-  there  had  been  a  story  in  two  brief  chap- 
ters. This  palace  of  fortune  owed  its  name  to  its  loca- 
tion on  the  uppermost  floor  of  one  of  those  tall,  slender 
structures,  like  dominoes  set  on  end,  which  illustrate  the 
reaching  upward  for  space  in  our  cities  when  horizontal 
expansion  becomes  no  longer  possible.  It  fronted  on  a 
blind  passageway  in  the  heart  of  the  hotel  district.  Its 
proprietor  was  a  jovial  man-about-town,  rather  prone 
than  averse  to  the  society  of  police  captains.  On  the 
ground  floor  a  commercial  agency  conducted  its  business 
quietly.  Tailors  rented  the  second  and  third  flights,  but 
the  fourth  story  was  always  unoccupied  and  never  adver- 
tised for  hire.  Applicants  covetous  of  its  advantages  were 
frightened  away  by  the  rental  asked.  It  was  at  the  head 
of  the  stairs  leading  from  this  landing  up  that  Kennedy 
had  pressed  the  three  white  bell  buttons  in  the  massive 
door. 

The  door  immediately  swung  open,  and  the  pair  found 
themselves  in  front  of  a  second  door,  similar  to  the  first 
except  that  the  opaque  panels  were  replaced  by  glass. 
Through  these  the  stairs  could  be  seen  beyond.  Ken- 
nedy repeated  his  signal,  this  time,  however,  reversing 
the  order  and  beginning  with  the  lowest  knob.  A  slide 
opened  at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  and  the  two  men  were 
the  object  of  scrutiny  for  awhile.  Shagarach's  sponsor 
was  evidently  persona  grata  to  the  sentinel,  for  the  second 
door  now  swung  in  and  they  were  free  to  mount  the 
stairs. 

"Sure  it's  true-blue,  Kennedy?"  said  the  sentinel,  when 
they  passed  him. 

"Sure,5'  answered  the  manikin,  but  his  smirk  was 
forced.  "Wine,  Sambo.'' 

Kennedy  began  breaking  the  ice  in  this  manner  for 
his  companion. 

"Not  a  life-long  votary  of  the  fickle  goddess,  I  should 
judge,"  remarked  a  man  introduced  as  Mr.  Faught. 

"This  is  my  initiation  into  her  mysterious  rites,"  an- 


132  THE    INCENDIARY. 

swered  Shagarach,  sweeping  the  room  for  Harry  Arnold. 

"Ah,  then,  it  is  not  too  late  for  you  to  withdraw.  The 
ceremonies  are  trying.  I  myself  am  only  a  neophyte  of 
low  degree.  Perhaps,  being  a  student  of  character,  you 
have  observed  as  much  from  my  appearance?'' 

"I  should  have  known  that  you  had  not  lost  a  fortune 
this  evening,  at  least." 

"There  is  one  simple  rule  to  escape  that." 

"Not  to  bring  one  here?" 

"Precisely." 

Shagarach  had  indeed  been  contrasting  Faught  with 
the  other  habitues,  most  of  them  men  of  fashion,  still 
young  in  years,  but  middle-aged  in  the  lines  of  their 
faces.  Several  beardless  youths  appeared  to  be  college 
students.  Two  or  three  wore  the  style  of  confidential 
bookkeepers  or  bank  cashiers.  As  many  more  were 
flush-faced  veterans,  with  wrinkled  pouches  under  their 
worldly  eyes  and  gray  mustaches  of  knowing  twist. 
Against  such  a  gathering,  smiling,  but  irritable  withal 
underneath  from  the  nervous  tension,  the  large  man  of 
bland  visage  and  ironical  phrase  certainly  struck  a  dis- 
cordant note. 

"Come  to  the  altar  and  I  will  explain  our  ritual." 

They  moved  toward  the  table  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  which  was  the  center  of  all  interest.  If  men 
appeared  to  be  chatting  absently  in  a  corner,  their  heads 
were  constantly  swiveled  this  way,  their  ears  caught  the 
announcement  of  every  result. 

"None  of  that,  Perley.  It  was  on  Stuart's  spot,"  cried 
a  harsh  voice  from  behind  the  table. 

"The  needle  was  on  the  line,"  protested  Perley,  reck- 
less-looking and  sadly  young.  "I  say,  the  needle  was 
on  the  line,  Reddy." 

He  had  missed  the  prize  by  a  hair.  Perhaps  the  bill 
he  had  laid  down  for  this  turn  was  his  last.  But  a  friend 
led  him  away,  still  muttering,  by  the  arm,  and  the  gap 
in  the  circle  which  his  removal  made  was  quickly  closed. 
The  man  called  Reddy  gathered  the  pile  of  bills  together, 
separated  a  small  portion,  which  he  swept  into  the  till, 
and  passed  the  remainder  to  Stuart. 


THE   INCENDIARY.  133 

"Reddy  runs  things,"  whispered  Faught,  not  so  low 
but  that  the  bank-tender  heard  and  looked  the  newcomer 
over  suspiciously.  "Comes  from  the  west,  a  desperado. 
Just  the  man  to  keep  them  down." 

"The  bad  blood  breaks  out  sometimes?" 

"Would  if  there  wasn't  a  strong  hand  at  the  needle." 

There  was  certainly  nothing  weak  about  Reddy.  He 
sprawled  sidewise  in  his  chair,  with  his  left  elbow  on 
the  table  and  his  right  arm  free  for  a  variety  of  uses — a 
big-boned  ruffian  with  a  sandy  face  and  an  eye  appar- 
ently riveted  on  the  disk  before  him,  but  really  sweeping 
in  the  whole  compass  of  the  room.  Overhanging  eye- 
brows veiled  these  furtive  glances.  As  a  rule  he  spoke 
quietly,  in  a  sepulchral  bass,  warning  the  players  to  adjust 
their  stakes  more  evenly  on  the  spots,  or  announcing 
the  winners  of  the  prizes.  The  recent  jar  with  Perley  was 
something  uncommon  in  the  mute  and  decorous  cham- 
ber over  which  Reddy  presided. 

"It's  a  new  game — roletto;  simple  as  odd  or  even," 
explained  Faught.  "The  circle  is  segmented  off  into 
black  and  white  rays,  or  spots,  as  we  call  them " 

"And  red?" 

"Those  are  used,  too.  You  see,  they  are  numbered  like 
the  others.  But  they  are  specially  colored  for  the  game 
with  the  bank.  In  the  ordinary  game  some  one  proposes 
a  stake  and  puts  it  down  on  its  lucky  number.  Then 
the  rest  follow  suit.  Would  you  like  to  try  this  round? 
It's  only  a  $10  trick." 

"Very  well." 

Shagarach  laid  his  stake  down  on  one  of  the  spaces. 

"That  starts  it.  See  them  join  in.  Twenty-four  spaces, 
black  and  white,  and  twenty-three  filled.  My  ten  spot 
quits  it  out.  Now  thank  your  stars  if  you  see  that  bill 
again." 

The  gamblers  stood  near  while  Reddy  reached  toward 
the  needle.  A  squad  of  grenadiers  at  attention  would 
not  be  more  rigid.  They  were  frozen  with  suspense.  But 
something  paralyzed  Reddy's  wrist.  He  had  caught  the 
full  glance  of  Shagarach.  It  was  several  seconds  before 
he  twisted  the  pointer.  For  several  more  it  spun  around, 


134  THE   INCENDIARY. 

gradually  slowing  up  and  coming  to  a  rest  over  Shaga- 
rach's  number. 

"Twenty!"  called  Reddy. 

"Mine!" 

Shagarach  coolly  smoothed  out  the  bills  and  folded 
them  in  his  pocket,  while  the  unsuccessful  players  eyed 
him  greedily.  Eleven-twelfths  of  the  stakes  went  to  the 
winner,  and  2,000  per  cent  would  be  considered  a  fair 
profit  in  any  speculation.  But  the  return  to  the  bank 
was  still  more  liberal,  being  the  steady  harvest  of  two- 
spots.  It  was  easy  to  see  how  the  luxuries  and  free 
accessories  of  the  Dove-Cote  could  be  provided. 

"Try  again,"  said  Faught,  shaking  Shagarach's  hand. 

"Perhaps  that  is  enough  for  an  experiment,"  answered 
the  lawyer,  a  little  undecided  still  whether  Faught  were 
a  decoy  of  the  establishment. 

"A  hundred  dollars  even  I  come  out  whole  to-night!" 
cried  a  voice  at  the  door.  It  was  Harry  Arnold. 

"A  little  quieter,  gentlemen/'  said  Reddy,  tapping  on 
his  desk.  "This  isn't  the  stock  exchange." 

"It's  a  more  respectable  place,''  answered  Harry,  sur- 
rendering his  wraps  to  a  servant. 

"I  take  you,"  said  several,  picking  up  the  gantlet  he 
had  thrown  down.  Faught  had  spoken  first  and  Ken- 
nedy was  chosen  stake-holder.  Shagarach,  meanwhile, 
had  retired  to  a  table  in  the  corner  and  ordered  some 
wine. 

"One  thousand  to  ten  I  break  the  bank,"  called  Harry 
as  loudly  as  before. 

"I  will  debar  any  man  who  uses  that  tone  again,"  said 
Reddy,  never  moving  a  muscle.  His  eyes  were  as  cold 
and  steady  as  the  barrels  of  two  Derringers  in  the  hands 
of  a  Texan  train  robber,  and  the  young  bravo,  though 
his  lip  curled,  did  not  reply.  His  second  bet  was  taken 
and  the  game  resumed  amid  its  former  silence. 

The  losers  repaired  to  the  sideboard  now  and  then 
and  renewed  their  courage  with  stimulants,  but  one  or 
two  who  called  for  brandy  were  told  that  no  strong 
liquors  were  allowed.  The  little  outbreak  over  Perley's 
protest  showed  the  wisdom  of  this  rule.  Harry  Arnold's 


THE  INCENDIARY.  135 

purse  seemed  to  be  well  lined  to-night,  for  he  led  the 
play  higher  and  higher. 

Shagarach  held  his  wineglass  toward  the  chandelier, 
so  as  to  shield  a  searching  glance  at  the  young  man's 
face.  Under  the  artificial  light  it  was  brilliantly  beauti- 
ful, the  face  of  a  man  who  could  say  to  almost  any 
woman  "Come''  and  she  would  follow  him  to  the  ends  of 
the  earth. 

"Do  you  know  young  Arnold?"  asked  Faught  of 
Shagarach,  who  had  just  lowered  his  wineglass.  He  be- 
gan to  take  some  notice  of  this  large,  quiet  man,  who, 
all  unobserved,  was  making  the  rounds  of  the  room. 

"By  sight,"  he  answered,  suppressing  a  yawn.  "You 
took  his  bet,  I  noticed?" 

"Only  a  hundred,  and  as  good  as  mine  already.  He's 
bucking  the  reds." 

"Gad,  Harry,  you  have  nerve,"  Kennedy's  pipe  was 
heard  exclaiming. 

"I  see  you  don't  understand,"  continued  Faught. 
"There  are  four  red  spots,  you  remember.  Ordinarily 
these  are  not  used.  In  the  common  game  it  is  impossible 
for  the  bank  to  lose,  though  one  of  the  players  may  win." 

He  smiled  in  allusion  to  Shagarach's  maiden  try. 

"But  sometimes  the  bank  condescends  to  take  a  risk. 
Then  the  stakes  are  high.  Each  player  lays  a  thousand 
opposite  one  of  the  four  reds.  If  the  needle  stops  over 
white  or  black,  Reddy  scoops  the  pot.  But  if  it  favors  a 
red  the  man  on  the  spot  opposite  gets  $5,000  from  the 
bank  and  the  others  quit  whole.  You  see  it's  perfectly 
fair.  Twenty  blacks  and  whites  and  four  reds,  that  makes 
the  odds  five  to  one  against  the  players.  So  the  bank, 
if  red  wins,  quintuples  the  stakes  all  round." 

"But  the  bank  twists  the  needle,"  said  Shagarach. 

"Oh,  that's  all  open  and  above  board." 

"Do  you  see  Reddy  looking  down?'' 

"He  is  watching  the  checker  board." 

"Why  not  a  mirror  under  the  table?" 

"What  would  it  show?" 

"Two  slender  bar  magnets  crossed  under  the  disk.  His 
foot  can  rotate  them  so  as  to  underlie  any  four  of  the 


136  THE   INCENDIARY. 

spots;  and  the  needle  is  of  steel."  Faught  opened  his 
eyes. 

"Bravo!''  an  exclamation  burst  from  the  crowd. 

"That's  number  one,"  Harry  Arnold  was  heard  exult- 
ing. Followed  by  Kennedy  and  the  taker  of  his  second 
bet,  he  crossed  over  to  the  bar. 

"Has  Arnold  set  the  place  on  fire?"  asked  Shagarach. 
It  was  said  during  a  pause  of  the  hum  and  he  raised  nis 
voice.  In  one  of  the  facets  of  his  wineglass  he  saw  Harry, 
who  had  just  passed  him,  start  and  turn,  but  it  was  impos- 
sible to  tell  whether  the  expression  of  his  face  had 
altered.  Certainly  it  was  no  more  than  a  glance  and  he 
took  no  notice  of  Shagarach.  The  lawyer's  low  stature 
diminished  at  a  distance  the  effect  of  his  splendid  head 
and  eyes,  which  were  so  powerful  at  short  range.  On 
the  present  occasion,  if  disguise  were  at  all  his  purpose, 
this  insignificance  was  useful. 

"He  has  beaten  the  bank,"  said  Faught. 

"A  Pyrrhic  victory,"  answered  Shagarach,  "and  a  Par- 
thian flight."  His  companion  rose  and  sauntered  behind 
Reddy,  but  either  the  mirror  was  hidden  or  the  bank- 
tender  was  too  wary  to  be  caught.  Suddenly  his  harsh 
voice  was  heard  again. 

"Put  that  down,  Perley." 

Every  one  looked  in  the  direction  of  the  youthful  gam- 
bler, who  had  been  the  center  of  the  dispute  when  Shaga- 
rach and  Kennedy  entered.  He  had  brooded  moodily 
since  his  loss,  sitting  alone  at  a  corner  table,  and  was 
just  raising  a  revolver  to  his  temple  when  Reddy's  com- 
mand checked  and  bewildered  him.  Instantly  Harry 
Arnold,  who  was  nearest,  wrenched  his  wrist  and  some 
one  else  secured  the  weapon.  Perley  writhed  like  a  mad- 
man, so  that  it  took  several  minutes  to  quiet  him.  When 
at  last  his  contortions  were  helpless  his  spirit  seemed  to 
give  suddenly  and  he  burst  into  tears. 

Shagarach  felt  a  deep  pity  in  his  breast.  The  youth 
looked  weak  rather  than  wicked.  Possibly  others,  whom 
he  loved,  would  suffer  by  his  recklessness  this  night.  An 
aversion  to  the  whole  tinseled  exterior,  gilding  over  soul- 
destroying  corruption,  came  upon  him  and  he  longed  for 


THE   INCENDIARY.  137 

the  sight  of  something  wholesome  and  pure — if  only  a 
basketful  of  speckled  eggs  or  a  clothes-press  hung  with 
newly  lavendered  linen.  But  his  purpose  in  coming  was 
still  unfulfilled,  so  he  merely  stopped  the  youth  as  he  was 
passing  out  in  dejection,  accompanied  by  a  friend. 

"I  was  luckier  than  you,"  he  said,  taking  out  the  roll 
of  bills  he  had  won.  "Will  you  accept  my  first  winnings 
as  a  loan?" 

Perley  halted  irresolutely. 

"They  amount  to  $200  or  so.  You  may  have  them  on 
one  condition." 

"What  is  it?" 

"That  you  go  immediately  home." 

"I  will,"  said  Perley. 

From  now  on  the  play  became  more  and  more  excit- 
ing, as  the  champagne  began  to  work  in  the  veins  of  the 
gamblers.  Once  again  Harry  Arnold  won,  then  lost  and 
lost  again.  Still  he  laid  down  bill  after  bill  from  a  bulky 
roll,  sometimes  leading  at  the  simple  game,  oftener  chal- 
lenging the  bank.  As  luck  turned  against  him  (if  luck 
it  were)  his  temper  changed.  He  grew  hilarious,  but  at 
the  same  time  savage.  Once  or  twice  his  differences  with 
Reddy  promised  to  culminate  in  a  serious  quarrel,  but 
each  time  the  coolness  of  the  experienced  bank-tender 
prevailed.  Shagarach  paid  no  attention  to  Kennedy, 
little  to  Faught.  He  was  studying  the  soul  of  Prince 
Charming. 

When  Harry  came  over  and  demanded  brandy  and 
struck  the  bar  with  his  clenched  fist  because  he  could 
not  have  it,  every  one  knew  that  his  wad  of  crisp  bills 
had  shrunken  to  almost  nothing.  But  still  he  would 
not  surrender. 

"The  whole  pile,''  he  cried,  laying  the  roll  down  oppo- 
site a  red  spot  It  was  the  same  one  he  had  played 
all  the  evening.  Reddy  counted  the  money  coolly. 

"A  thousand  is  all  we  go,"  he  said,  returning  one 
bill  to  Arnold — the  last  poor  remnant  of  Rabofsky's  loan. 

"I  challenge  you  to  play  higher.  I  dare  you  to  give 
me  my  revenge." 

"There's  only  a  hundred  over  and  you'll  need  more 


138  THE  INCENDIARY. 

than  that  to  settle  your  outside  bets  with,"  answered 
Reddy,  as  if  victory  for  the  bank  were  a  foregone  conclu- 
sion. Three  others,  carried  away  by  the  force  of  play, 
put  down  stakes  of  $1,000  each  and  all  of  the  reds  were 
covered.  Reddy  snapped  the  needle  with  his  forefinger 
as  carelessly  as  a  schoolboy  twirling  a  card  on  a  pin. 
Four  necks  craned  over,  four  lungs  ceased  to  draw 
breath,  while  it  slowly,  slowly  paused. 

"Mine!"  exulted  Harry,  stretching  forth  his  hand;  but 
Reddy  intercepted  it. 

"The  bank!"  he  growled. 

"It's  on  the  line,"  said  Harry,  flushing. 

"By  the  rules  I  am  judge,  and  I  say  the  bank !"  Reddy 
lowered  his  voice  to  its  most  sepulchral  register,  while 
Harry  raised  his  to  a  shriek. 

"Between  man  and  man,  but  not  between  a  player 
and  the  bank.  I  leave  it  to  these  gentlemen  if  it  wasn't 
on  the  line." 

"Always,"  answered  Reddy.  He  snapped  the  needle 
again.  Whether  the  bar-magnets  below  had  been  care- 
lessly adjusted,  whether  the  pointer  had  really  rested 
over  the  line,  that  was  a  matter  upon  which  arbitration 
was  now  rendered  forever  impossible.  Then  he  reached 
for  the  money. 

"You  swindler!"  shrieked  Harry,  striking  at  his  face 
across  the  table.  Instantly  Reddy's  right  hand,  the  free 
hand,  opened  a  drawer  and  presented  a  cocked  revolver. 
His  finger  was  on  the  trigger  to  pull,  when  Shagarach 
gave  the  shout  of  warning. 

"Spies!"  he  cried.  It  was  a  word  to  strike  terror.  Per- 
haps it  saved  Harry's  life. 

During  the  confusion,  observed  of  none  but  Shaga- 
rach, a  whistle  had  been  heard  from  the  outside,  and  the 
quiet  man,  Faught,  had  passed  over  to  one  of  the  win- 
dows. There  were  only  two,  and  these  were  protected 
by  iron  shutters,  which  closed  with  a  latch.  The  first 
sound  heard  was  Faught  lifting  the  latch  and  throwing 
the  shutters  apart.  A  uniformed  man  dropped  into  the 
room,  followed  by  another  and  another.  Faught  rushed 


THE    INCENDIARY.  139 

behind  Reddy  and  the  second  window  was  soon  opened. 
All  the  officers  carried  lanterns  and  clubs. 

"The  first  man  who  moves  his  little  finger  dies,"  said 
the  foremost  of  the  invaders,  advancing.  His  tone  was 
easy  and  his  pistol  covered  Reddy.  The  whole  room 
looked  toward  the  desperado  as  if  expecting  him  to  do 
something.  He  turned  his  revolver's  muzzle  quickly  as 
if  from  Arnold  to  the  officer,  but  instantly  his  right  hand 
was  knocked  up  by  Faught.  With  his  left  he  pressed 
an  electric  button  for  some  daring  purpose.  Then  the 
pistol  shot  rang  out,  a  moment  too  late,  and  the  room 
was  in  total  darkness. 

The  slides  of  the  officer's  lanterns,  however,  were 
opened  at  once,  and  in  a  jiffy  the  door  was  guarded. 
Through  the  yellowish  light  Shagarach  could  see  tussling 
groups  and  hear  cries  of  anger  and  pain.  He  himself  was 
seized  and  handcuffed.  Presently  the  uproar  quieted 
down  and  the  voice  of  the  spokesman  was  heard  ordering 
one  of  the  negroes  to  light  up. 

But  it  was  a  different  sight  that  met  Shagarach's  eye 
when  the  chandeliers  blazed  again.  The  roletto  table 
had  disappeared,  probably  carried  downstairs  by  a  trap- 
door at  Reddy's  touch  of  the  button.  This  was  the  use 
for  which  the  vacant  fourth  story  was  reserved.  All 
around  among  the  smaller  tables  the  gamblers  stood  like 
lambs,  trembling  and  pale  in  the  grip  of  the  law.  In  the 
middle  of  the  floor  lay  Reddy,  the  blood  bubbling  from 
a  pea-sized  hole  that  divided  his  left  eyebrow  and  gath- 
ering in  a  thick  pool  on  the  carpet.  McCausland's  bullet 
had  flown  true  to  its  target. 

Only  one  of  the  gamblers  was  missing. 

"He  must  have  climbed  out  of  the  window,"  said 
Shagarach,  sotto  voce. 


140  THE   INCENDIARY. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

LEX    REX. 

Stupefaction  is  a  weak  word  to  express  the  feelings  of 
Saul  Aronson  when  a  messenger  awakened  him  at  I 
o'clock  Thursday  morning  with  a  request  from  Shaga- 
rach  that  he  would  come  to  police  station  No.  5  at  once. 
The  attorney's  assistant  was  never  a  sluggard,  but  the 
celerity  with  which  on  this  occasion  he  scrambled  into 
his  street  clothes  would  have  done  credit  to  a  lightning- 
change  artist. 

The  police  captain  received  him  courteously,  explain- 
ing, as  he  conducted  him  to  Shagarach's  cell,  his  hesi- 
tancy about  discharging  the  lawyer  without  permission 
from  McCausland,  who  had  maliciously  disappeared. 
Both  he  and  Shagarach  were  agreed  that  the  most  judi- 
cious course  was  to  accept  a  temporary  release  on  bail, 
and  later  to  secure  a  quashing  of  the  charge  by  an 
explanation  to  the  district  attorney.  So  Aronson  set  out 
again  to  secure  bail,  and  at  4  o'clock  had  the  joy  of 
seeing  his  master  pass  down  the  station  steps  with  his 
bondsman. 

It  was  fortunate  that  the  affair  turned  out  so  well,  for 
the  very  next  day  had  been  set  down  for  the  hearing 
in  the  Probate  court  on  the  settlement  of  Benjamin 
Arnold's  estate. 

Hodgkins  Hodgkins,  Esq.,  flanked  by  the  other  two 
members  of  the  firm  of  Hodgkins,  Hodgkins  &  Hodg- 
kins— namely,  his  brother  and  his  nephew — was  already 
on  his  feet  to  address  the  court  when  Shagarach,  as 
representative  of  Robert  Floyd's  interest,  arrived  and 
pushed  to  the  front.  Except  for  the  fact  that  he  was 
Prof.  Arnold's  oldest  acquaintance  in  the  city,  it  was 
hard  to  understand  the  selection  of  Hodgkins  for  the 


THE   INCENDIARY.  141 

responsible  position  of  executor  over  a  property  of  $10,- 
000,000. 

A  tall,  withered  specimen  of  nearly  70,  thin-whiskered 
and  jejune  of  speech,  you  would  have  looked  instinctively 
for  the  green  bag  at  his  side  if  you  had  met  him  on  the 
street.  "Whereas"  and  "aforesaid"  and  a  dozen  other 
legal  barbarisms  disfigured  his  rhetoric  and  the  trick  of 
buttoning  his  coat  with  an  important  air  over  documents 
mysteriously  shuffled  into  his  breast  pocket  was  as  natural 
to  him  as  crossed  legs  to  a  tailor. 

But  all  this  pomp,  ridiculous  as  it  was,  gave  no  promise 
of  the  disloyalty  that  was  to  follow.  From  the  first  words 
of  his  address  it  became  evident  that  Hodgkins  Hodg- 
kins,  Esq.,  was  there  not  to  execute  the  will  of  his  friend 
but  to  oppose  its  execution.  Like  many  another  intrusted 
with  the  same  office,  he  had  transferred  his  allegiance 
from  the  forgotten  dead  to  the  living  who  had  bounty  to 
bestow.  Mrs.  Arnold,  sitting  among  the  spectators, 
alone,  might  well  congratulate  herself  upon  a  clever 
stroke  in  engaging  the  services  of  the  quondam  execu- 
tor for  her  son. 

"As  counsel  for  the  petitioner,  Mr.  Harry  Arnold," 
said  Hodgkins,  ahemming  huskily,  "I  desire  to  explain 
to  the  court  briefly  my  relation  to  the  case.  As  your 
honor  has  been  informed,  I  enjoyed  the  privilege  of  the 
testator's — or,  more  properly,  the  intestate's — acquaint- 
ance during  a  period  of  nearly  fifty  years.  During  that 
period  nothing,  I  believe,  ever  occurred  to  mar  our 
mutual  trust  and  confidence.  Up  to  six  weeks  ago  the 
deceased  had  never  expressed  any  desire  to  alter  the  nat- 
ural distribution  of  his  property  after  his  death.  Up  to 
that  time,  although  approaching  his  seventy-ninth  birth- 
day, my  honored  friend  had  been  entirely  satisfied,  en- 
tirely satisfied,  I  repeat,  with  the  prospects  of  a  division 
of  his  estate  according  to  the  laws  of  descent  in  this 
commonwealth." 

"A  statement  which  we  deny,"  broke  in  Shagarach, 
sotto  voce.  Hodgkins  was  a  little  nonplussed. 

"Am  I  to  understand  that  Brother  Shagarach,  repre- 


142  THE    INCENDIARY. 

senting,  I  presume,  the  interests  of  the  other  nephew, 
refers  to  some  previously  existing  testament?'' 

"Not  at  all.  I  refer,  your  honor,  to  oral  expressions 
of  an  intention  to  will  his  entire  property  to  the  nephew 
who  lived  with  him,  Mr.  Robert  Floyd." 

"There  was  a  will  drawn,  which  is  not  extant,  I  be- 
lieve?" inquired  the  judge. 

"There  was  a  will  drawn,"  answered  Shagarach,  "but 
since  unfortunately  destroyed,  by  which  Floyd  was  dis- 
inherited.'' 

"I  opine,  then" — Mr.  Hodgkins  frequently  opined — 
"that  Brother  Shagarach  concedes  the  destruction  of  the 
document  and  is  here " 

"To  argue  for  its  upholding." 

The  whole  firm  of  Hodgkins,  Hodgkins  &  Hodgkins 
looked  as  if  a  thunderbolt  had  struck  them  at  this  an- 
nouncement. Shagarach  was  throwing  away  Robert's 
share,  amounting  to  $5,000,000. 

"We  were  not  aware  of  this  intention,"  said  the  senior 
member,  after  a  consultation,  "and  as  to  the  alleged  oral 
expressions  of  a  purpose  to  leave  the — the  accused 
nephew  sole  legatee — er — er  in  any  case  we  should  have 
contested  such  a  will  on  the  ground  of  undue  influence. 
Six  weeks  ago,"  Hodgkins  was  now  frowning  as  formid- 
ably as  possible,  "I  received  a  letter  from  my  honored 
friend,  informing  me  that  he  had  made  a  will  and  request- 
ing me  to  assume  the  function  of  sole  executor — a 
request  which  I  felt  it  a  duty,  as  well  as  an  honor,  to 
accept." 

"May  I  see  the  testator's  letter?"  said  Shagarach, 
breaking  in. 

"I  trust  the  court  will  accept  my  assurance " 

"It  is  no  question  of  your  word.  I  desire  to  see  the 
terms  of  your  appointment  as  executor,  and  request  that 
the  letter  be  read.'' 

"As  the  first  step  toward  establishing  the  existence  of 
a  will,"  said  the  judge,  "upon  which,  I  believe,  both  par- 
ties,, all  parties" — there  were  several  other  lawyers  pres- 
ent— "are  agreed " 

Hodgkins  and  Shagarach  bowed. 


THE   INCENDIARY.  143 

"The  letter  had  best  be  read  in  evidence." 

There  was  a  great  diving  into  green  bags  for  awhile 

among  the  Hodgkins  firm,  at  the  end  of  which  the  senior 

member  read  the  following  letter: 

"Friend  Hodgkins:  You  are  the  only  one  of  your  cursed 
tribe  to  whom  I  ever  got  nearer  than  swearing  distance,  and 
our  intimacy  began  before  you  were  admitted  to  the  vulpine 
crew.  Here  I  am,  a  youngster  of  78,  anticipating  death  by 
thirty  years  at  least  and  indulging  in  the  folly  of  will-making. 
Can  you  conceive  anything  more  absurd?  I  might  as  well 
think  of  getting  insured  so  early  in  life.  But  I  was  always  ex- 
cessively cautious,  you  know — hence  my  odium  advocatorum,  I 
suppose.  Can  you  superintend  the  job?  Most  of  my  hoard 
goes  elsewhere,  but  there  will  be  some  for  the  executor  to  dis- 
tribute, and  you  will  find  legal  pickings  in  it  that  will  pay  you 
Write  at  once.  "BENJAMIN  ARNOLD." 

This  eccentric  epistle  raised  a  smile  among  the  lawyers, 
but  Shagarach  was  busily  occupied  drafting  a  verbatim 
copy  while  Hodgkins  continued  his  plea. 

"I  was  remarking,"  he  repeated,  one  of  his  favorite 
introductory  formulae,  "that  upon  receiving  this  request 
I  made  haste  to  indite  a  favorable  response,  as  I  felt 
bound  in  duty  and  honor '' 

"And  the  prospect  of  pickings,"  added  Shagarach, 
sotto  voce,  still  copying  the  letter.  The  senior  member 
glared. 

"It  is  needless  to  relate  the  unfortunate  circumstance, 
in  which  Brother  Shagarach's  client  is  so  deeply  impli- 
cated, which  has  relieved  me  of  this  welcome  if  laborious 
trust.  The  will  under  which  I  was  to  serve  in  the  capacity 
of  executor  has  been  destroyed — destroyed,  presumably, 
by  the  party  whose  hopes  of  a  fortune  is  cut  off,  and  we 
stand  here  to-day  facing  the  same  status  which  existed 
up  to  six  weeks  ago.  I  say  the  same — I  am  in  error. 
There  is  an  important,  a  melancholy  difference.  Six 
weeks  ago  my  friend's  nephew  was  not  an  accused  and 
all  but  a  convicted  murderer." 

Hodgkins  paused, -as  if  expecting  a  rejoinder  from 
Shagarach,  but  the  latter  appeared  profoundly  absorbed 
in  a  telegram  which  Jacob  had  just  brought  him. 

"The  property  now  stands  in  no  man's  name.    There 


144  THE   INCENDIARY. 

is  no  person  to  whom  its  dividends,  its  rents,  its  interest, 
constantly  becoming  due,  can  safely  be  paid.  Under  the 
laws  of  descent  its  title  vests  equally  in  the  heirs-at-law, 
the  nephews  of  the  deceased.  But  there  is  need  of  an 
administration,  in  order  that  the  two  shares  may  be 
apportioned  in  a  satisfactory  manner.  I  need  not  again 
allude  to  the  circumstance  which  renders  a  joint  admin- 
istration improper  and  impossible,  the  circumstance 
which  explains  the  absence  of  Brother  Shagarach's 
client " 

"I  do  not  see  Brother  Hodgkins'  client  in  the  court- 
room," Shagarach  retorted  to  this  sarcasm.  As  he  spoke 
his  eye  fell  on  Mrs.  Arnold's  haughty  face. 

"It  is  certain,  however,  that  he  is  not  occupying  a 
felon's  cell,"  answered  Hodgkins.  "Briefly,  your  honor, 
there  is  only  one  course  open.  An  administrator  is 
urgently  needed  for  this  immense  estate.  In  the  absence 
of  a  will,  the  heirs-at-law,  being  of  age,  would  naturally 
be  selected,  but  under  the  circumstances  I  respectfully 
suggest  that  the  younger  of  the  two  nephews  is  debarred 
and  that  your  honor's  choice  should  fall  upon  the  elder, 
a  college  graduate,  a  young  man  who  moves  in  the 
highest  social  circles,  and  who  has  not,  I  believe,  the 
honor  of  an  acquaintance  with  the  inmates  and  turnkeys 
of  the  state  prison." 

Hodgkins  had  hardly  sat  down  after  this  acrid  perora- 
tion when  Shagarach  was  on  his  feet. 

"I  have  only  a  few  words  to  say  at  present.  The  case 
is  by  no  means  so  simple  as  my  learned  brother  imagines. 
My  learned  brother  assumes  that  the  physical  destruc- 
tion of  the  will  has  involved  the  extinction  of  its  contents. 
So  mature  an  advocate  does  not  need  to  be  reminded  that 
parol  proof  of  the  contents  of  a  will,  of  its  accuracy  in 
technical  form,  and  of  its  existence  unrevoked  at  the  time 
of  the  testator's  death,  are  equivalent  in  law  to  the  pres- 
entation of  the  document  itself. 

"We  have  in  the  court-room  today  a  number  of  wit- 
nesses who  will  testify  to  the  contents  of  the  will.  We 
have  the  witnesses  who  signed  it  to  prove  its  compliance 
with  statutory  requirements  as  to  form;  and  I  do  not 


THE   INCENDIARY.  145 

understand  that  Brother  Hodgkins  denies  that  the  paper 
was  in  existence  until  destroyed  at  the  Arnold  fire." 

"You  object,  then,  to  the  issuance  of  administration 
papers  to  Mr.  Harry  Arnold?"  asked  the  judge. 

"Emphatically.  We  desire  to  uphold  the  will.  Brother 
Hodgkins  has  introduced  evidence  as  to  the  making 
of  a  will  in  the  letter  which  he  read.  I  should  like  to 
put  in  evidence  now  the  testimony  of  the  three  witnesses 
to  the  signature." 

When  the  three  witnesses  had  sworn  to  Prof.  Arnold's 
acknowledgment  in  their  presence  of  the  will,  to  their 
own  attestation  of  his  signature,  and  to  the  date,  June 
7,  of  these  occurrences,  another  lawyer,  who  appeared  to 
act  in  concert  with  Shagarach,  briefly  announced  his 
guardianship  of  the  interests  of  the  heirs  of  Ellen  Gree- 
ley,  a  legatee  in  the  sum  of  $1,000.  After  recounting  the 
long  and  meritorious  services  of  the  dead  domestic,  he 
called  upon  her  sister  to  testify  to  several  conversations 
in  which  she  had  referred  to  the  professor's  generous 
remembrance  of  her  in  his  will. 

"It  is  proper  to  state  at  this  point,"  said  Shagarach, 
"that  the  other  servant,  Bertha  Lund,  is  not  represented 
here  by  counsel,  but  there  is  evidence  to  show  that  she 
was  remembered  in  the  same  manner  as  her  colleague.'' 

Mrs.  Christenson  was  thereupon  called  and  deposed, 
exactly  as  Ellen  Greeley's  sister  had  done,  to  the  several 
conversations  in  which  Bertha  had  referred  to  her  em- 
ployer's liberality. 

"Until  yesterday  evening,"  said  Shagarach,  "Bertha 
Lund  was  employed  in  the  country  house  of  Mrs.  Arnold 
at  Hillsborough.  A  telegram,  however,  sent  to  the  sta- 
tion-master at  that  place,  brings  the  answer  that  Miss 
Lund  took  the  outward-bound  train  at  5:21  this  morn- 
ing, being  alone  and  accoutred  with  a  large  baggage 
trunk.  I  doubt,  therefore,  if  this  important  witness  as 
to  the  contents  of  the  will  can  readily  be  found." 

While  he  made  this  statement  Shagarach  searched  Mrs. 
Arnold's  face.  Her  gaze  shifted  and  she  perceptibly 
whitened.  Then  the  rise  of  still  another  lawyer,  also 
seeming  to  act  in  concert  with  Shagarach,  drew  attention 


146  THE   INCENDIARY. 

to  the  court.  The  new  attorney  represented,  as  he  imme- 
diately informed  the  judge,  certain  charitable  institutions 
which  had  been  remembered  under  the  clauses  of  the  will 
— namely,  the  Duxborough  institution  for  the  blind,  of 
which  the  professor,  who  had  himself  been  operated  on 
for  cataract,  had  been  throughout  his  life  a  conspicuous 
supporter;  the  Woodlawn  home  for  consumptives,  the 
dipsomaniac  hospital,  the  Magdalen  reformatory,  the 
asylum  for  idiots  and  the  Christian  orphanage.  Letters 
were  read  from  Prof.  Arnold  to  the  superintendents  of 
each  of  these  institutions,  requesting  them  to  accept  leg- 
acies of  $20,000  each  under  the  will  which  he  had  just 
drawn.  The  letters  were  couched  in  a  stereotyped  form 
and  all  dated  alike. 

But  the  most  significant  testimony  of  the  day  was  con- 
tained in  the  last  document  which  this  attorney  presented 
— a  letter. 

"Dr.  Silsby  himself,"  he  explained,  "is  detained  from 
attendance  at  this  hearing  by  important  scientific  labors 
in  the  west." 

The  mention  of  Dr.  Jonas  Silsby's  name  caused  the 
eyebrows  of  the  Hodgkins  firm  to  elevate  themselves 
unanimously  in  a  manner  which  amusingly  accented  the 
facial  resemblance  of  the  members.  Jonas  Silsby  had 
been  a  pupil  of  Prof.  Arnold  and  was  at  present  the  most 
distinguished  arboreal  botanist  in  the  country.  Along 
with  some  of  his  master's  eccentricities,  such  as  vegeta- 
rianism, he  had  imbibed  much  of  his  independence  and 
noble  honor.  He  was,  moreover,  Robert  Floyd's  most 
intimate  friend,  bridging,  as  it  were,  by  the  full  vigor  of 
his  fifty-odd  years,  the  great  gap  of  half  a  century  which 
separated  the  boyish  nephew  from  his  octogenarian  uncle. 

Mrs.  Arnold's  quick  smoothing  with  her  finger  of  an 
imaginary  loose  lock — the  characteristic  feminine  gesture 
of  embarrassment — did  not  escape  Shagarach's  lustrous 
glance.  The  letter  was  worded  as  quaintly  as  the  other: 

"My  Dear  Jonas:  .Rob  has  gone  back  on  me,  God  bless  him, 
the  rogue,  and  you've  got  to  take  my  dollars.  I  know  you  don't 
want  them,  but  I'm  going  to  commit  inverse  larceny  just  the 
same.  I'll  grab  you  by  the  throat  and  stuff  your  pockets  with 


THE  INCENDIARY.  147 

gold,  though  you  bellow  like  an  ox.  You  know  what  it's  all 
about.  We've  talked  it  over  often  enough.  And  I  want  it 
called  the  'Arnold  academia,'  too.  If  agriculture  stops  going 
to  the  dogs  in  this  country  through  the  preaching  of  the  dons 
my  hoard  keeps  in  shoe  leather,  then  I  want  the  credit  of  it 
for  my  ghost  downstairs.  It'll  need  some  comfort,  Jonas.  But 
don't  suppose  I  dream  of  quitting  you  yet,  my  boy,  and  don't 
expect  all  of  the  pudding  I've  baked.  There  will  be  some 
plums  for  the  asylums,  and  some  for  the  servants,  and  Rob, 
the  young  rogue,  has  got  to  be  provided  for,  willy-nilly.  This 
is  only  a  hint,  but  verbum  sap.  We'll  talk  it  over  when  you 
come  east  again,  with  your  pouches  full  of  seeds.  Here's  good 
luck  to  you,  Jonas.  It  is  God's  world,  anyway,  and  not  the 
devil's.  Your  old  friend,  "BENJAMIN  ARNOLD." 

"Dr.  Silsby  explains,"  added  the  lawyer,  "that  the 
allusion  in  the  text  to  an  academia  refers  to  a  cherished 
project  for  elevating  the  position  of  the  American  farmer. 
The  idea  was  to  establish  a  great  agricultural  university. 
It  had  been  a  frequent  subject  of  discussion  between 
them,  and  nothing  could  be  more  natural  than  that  Dr. 
Silsby  should  be  selected  as  president  of  the  institution." 

"And  trustee  of  its  funds,"  added  Shagarach,  looking 
at  the  senior  member  of  the  bewildered  firm  of  Hodgkins, 
Hodgkins  &  Hodgkins.  Then  the  court  adjourned  for 
lunch. 


CHAPTER  XX. 
TWO  STEPS  FORWARD  AND  ONE  TO  THE  REAR. 

At  the  afternoon  session  Mrs.  Arnold  was  found  at  her 
place,  still  unaccompanied  by  her  son.  Five  lawyers 
had  already  outlined  their  standpoints  to  the  judge,  but 
still  there  were  new  complications  in  store.  Lawyer 
Howell  was  Shagarach's  earliest  opponent,  the  Goliath 
of  his  first  great  duel.  He  contented  himself  with  stating 
his  intention  to  attach  Floyd's  share  of  the  property  in 
behalf  of  the  insurance  companies  and  proprietors  who 
had  suffered  loss  through  the  crime  with  which  he  was 
charged.  He  was  of  opinion  that  the  evidence  offered 


148  THE    INCENDIARY. 

to  uphold  the  will  lacked  particularity  and  was  insuffi- 
cient  

"Brother  Howell  is  not  here  as  associate  justice."  Shag- 
arach  was  on  his  feet  in  a  flash.  "His  opinions  are  imper- 
tinences, too  manifestly  dictated  by  his  interests.  Natu- 
rally the  insurance  companies  and  burned-out  proprie- 
tors desire  to  break  this  will,  in  order  that  Robert  Floyd 
may  take  the  $5,000,000  which  he  does  not  want  and  they 
may  join  the  hue  and  cry  of  the  other  conspirators 
against  an  innocent  man." 

Howell  was  protesting  against  such  a  suggestion,  when 
he  was  interrupted  by  a  roar  from  one  of  the  learned 
brethren  who  had  been  impatiently  waiting  his  turn. 

"I  speak  for  the  murdered  girls,"  he  cried,  "whose 
pure  young  blood  stains  the  hands  of  that  guilty  mon- 
ster, and  in  the  name  of  their  bleeding  corpses  and  young 
lives,  ruthlessly  done  to  death,  I  utter  my  protest  against 
the  imputation  of  innocence  to  their  slayer." 

The  auditors,  who  had  begun  to  drowse  over  the  tech- 
nical details  of  the  case,  were  stirred  to  attention  at  once 
by  this  declamatory  opening.  Even  Saul  Aronson, 
sleepy  from  his  restless  night,  checked  a  yawn  midway 
with  his  fingers  and  turned  around.  The  new  speaker 
was  a  middle-sized,  burly  man,  whose  most  conspicuous 
feature  was  a  projection  of  the  flesh  beneath  the  outer 
corners  of  his  eyebrows,  so  as  to  bury  the  eyes  and  give 
his  whole  face  an  expression  almost  Mongolian  in  its 
cunning.  His  clothes  were  seedy,  and  his  remarks  punc- 
tuated by  amber-colored  shots  at  the  cuspidor.  Alto- 
gether it  was  a  decidedly  rakish  craft  and  the  look  on 
Judge  Dunder's  face  was  by  no  means  propitious. 

"It  is  an  axiom  of  law,"  said  the  orator,  waving  his 
hand  and  executing  a  demi-volt  toward  the  spectators, 
"that  no  man  can  take  advantage  of  his  own  tort.  I 
hereby  accuse  Robert  Floyd  of  the  murder  of  my 
clients " 

"Who  are  your  clients?''  interrupted  the  judge. 

"Mary  and  Florence  Lacy,  two  virtuous  maidens,  the 
sunshine  of  a  happy  home,  the  pride  of  a  loving  and 
admiring  circle  of  friends" — just  here  came  one  of  the 


THE   INCENDIARY.  149 

orator's  punctuation  points,  which  produced  a  sadly  anti- 
thetical effect — "the  comforts  of  a  bereaved  mother's 
heart " 

An  old  lady  in  the  audience  burst  into  tears.  Presuma- 
bly it  was  Mrs.  Lacy.  This  tribute  to  his  eloquence 
warmed  the  orator  to  a  mighty  outburst. 

"Woe,  I  say,  to  that  ruthless  hand!  Perdition  gripe 
that  marble  heart " 

"Will  you  kindly  make  your  statements  relevant?"  The 
judge's  manner  was  arctic.  "We  are  considering  the 
disposition  of  Benjamin  Arnold's  estate." 

"I  beg  to  interpose."  Hodgkins  had  seen  a  ray  of  hope 
in  the  utterances  of  the  last  two  speakers.  Slack,  the 
grandiloquent,  was  a  bibulous  shyster,  who  made  a 
precarious  livelihood  by  imposing  on  just  such  victims 
as  Mrs.  Lacy,  but  at  this  juncture  he  might  prove  a  use- 
ful ally.  "Brother  Slack  is  not  unnaturally,  I  may  say 
most  creditably,  carried  away  by  his  feelings  on  behalf 
of  his  clients;  and  I,  for  one,  heartily  join  him  in  oppos- 
ing the  efforts  which  have  been  made  here  today  to  put 
the  means  of  redress  for  those — er — unhappy  victims 
beyond  their  reach — or,  rather,  to  reduce  them  to  a 
paltry  $20,000." 

"Twenty  thousand  dollars!"  shrieked  Slack.  "Who 
dares  insult  the  sanctity  of  human  life  by  estimating  its 
value  at  such  a  bagatelle.  I  say  not  $20,000,000  would 
recompense  that  weeping  mother  for  the  loss  of  the  chil- 
dren of  her  bosom." 

With  pointed  finger  he  held  up  the  grief  of  the  now 
blushing  and  embarrassed  woman  to  the  curious  gaze  of 
the  crowd.  Then,  wearied  of  his  vulgarity,  and  confident 
of  a  case  already  complete,  Shagarach  rose  and  imme- 
diately drew  all  eyes  and  ears. 

"Brother  Slack  has  unwittingly  uttered  the  strongest 
argument  of  the  day  in  favor  of  the  request  which  I 
make — a  request,  be  it  understood,  for  postponement 
only,  until  sufficient  time  elapses  to  permit  the  contents 
of  this  will  to  be  demonstrated.  Brother  Slack  assumes 
the  guilt  of  my  client  in  a  criminal  cause  now  pending. 
Brother  Howell  assumes  it;  Brother  Hodgkins,  in  ask- 


150  THE    INCENDIARY. 

ing  you  to  exclude  him  from  the  administratorship,  also 
assumes  it.  This  is  a  new  doctrine  of  law,  to  adjudge  a 
man  guilty  without  according  him  an  opportunity  for  de- 
fense. I  ask  your  honor  to  consider  the  stigma  which 
the  choice  of  Harry  Arnold  as  sole  administrator  would 
cast  upon  Robert  Floyd,  and  the  prejudice  it  would  work 
him  in  the  cause  I  have  mentioned. 

"But,  aside  from  this,  I  ask  you  to  consider  the  chain 
of  evidence  presented  as  to  the  will  itself.  Let  us  keep 
in  mind  that  will  is  only  legalized  wish.  I  am  aware 
that  great  particularity  is  required  in  such  cases  as  ours. 
But  when  your  honor  reviews  the  statements  of  Martha 
Greeley,  of  Mrs.  Christenson,  of  the  six  superintendents 
of  institutions  of  charity,  and  of  Dr.  Silsby — yes,  and  I 
will  add  the  letter  to  Brother  Hodgkins,  who,  it  now 
appears,  was  to  stand  as  executor  only  of  that  small  resi- 
due of  the  estate  which  did  not  go  to  the  founding  of 
the  Arnold  academia — when  your  honor  reviews  these 
I  am  convinced  that  you  will  agree  that  the  disposition  of 
this  vast  property  is  not  a  matter  to  be  hastily  deter- 
mined. 

"My  brother  has  referred  to  the  supposed  advantage 
reaped  by  Floyd  from  the  destruction  of  the  will.  Floyd 
is  not  here  to  speak  for  himself,  but  he  has  contended 
consistently  that  the  reduction  of  his  legacy  to  $20,000 
was  made  at  his  own  request,  and  that  even  that  small 
sum  was  in  excess  of  his  wishes.  Read  as  I  read  them, 
the  expressions  of  endearment  in  the  letter  to  Dr.  Silsby 
support  this  statement.  They  are  not  the  language  of  an 
irate  testator,  used  in  reference  to  a  disinherited  heir. 
Allow  me,  moreover,"  Shagarach  was  now  looking 
straight  at  Mrs.  Arnold,  "to  point  out  that  Robert  Floyd 
was  not  the  only  gainer  by  the  destruction  of  Prof. 
Arnold's  will.  What  atom  of  evidence  has  been  adduced 
to  show  that  the  testator  remembered  Harry  Arnold?" 

Mrs.  Arnold  started  and  reddened  at  the  mention  of 
her  son's  name.  Then  she  put  her  handkerchief  to  her 
lips  and  coughed  nervously.  Shagarach's  glance  was  just 
long  enough  to  avoid  attracting  general  attention  toward 
her. 


THE   INCENDIARY.  151 

"For  these  reasons  I  ask  that  your  honor  schedule  a 
second  hearing  of  this  important  cause,  to  take  place  after 
a  complete  survey  of  the  evidence  shall  have  demon- 
strated that  not  Robert  Floyd  but  another  is  responsible 
for  the  death  of  Mary  and  Florence  Lacy." 

Mrs.  Arnold's  trembling  was  painfully  apparent,  and 
there  was  nothing  in  Hodgkins'  feeble  and  desultory 
reply  to  give  her  hope. 

"I  will  take  the  matter  under  consideration,"  said 
Judge  Dunder,  when  he  had  closed,  and  Shagarach 
knew  that  a  severe  blow  at  Robert's  reputation,  as  well 
as  a  timely  relief  to  the  Arnold  purse,  had  been  prevented 
by  that  morning's  work. 

There  were  fewer  clients  than  usual  in  the  office  when 
he  returned.  One  of  them,  a  large  man,  immediately 
arose. 

"I  am  Patrolman  Chandler,"  said  he. 

''What  can  we  do  for  each  other?" 

"Not  much,  perhaps."  The  policeman  drew  an  en- 
velope from  his  pocket  and  showed  a  lemon-colored 
glove  inside.  "Will  that  help  you  any?" 

"Perhaps.     It  has  a  story?" 

"A  short  one.  That  glove's  been  in  my  pocket  ever 
since  I  was  taken  to  the  hospital  when  the  girl  fell  on 
me.  Never  thought  of  it;  hardly  knew  it  was  there.  Had 
broken  bones  to  think  of,  you  know.'' 

"I  read  of  your  bravery  at  the  fire." 

"Pshaw!  Well,  here's  the  history  of  that  article.  I 
know  Floyd;  have  known  him  ever  since  I  took  that 
route.  Things  look  blue  for  the  boy,  but  I  never  heard 
harm  of  him  before,  and  says  I  to  myself,  yesterday  when 
I  found  the  glove,  perhaps  Mr.  Shagarach  can  turn 
this  to  good  account,  and  perhaps  he  can't.  It's  worth 
trying,  and  if  it  saves  Floyd's  neck,  why,  it's  no  more'n 
I'd  like  to  have  him  do  for  me  if  our  positions  were 
just  right  about." 

"That's  the  golden  rule,  stated  in  the  vernacular. 
Where  did  you  find  this?" 

"On  the  stairs  in  the  Arnold  house." 

"After  the  fire?" 


152  THE    INCENDIARY. 

"When  I  went  into  the  house  at  the  beginning/' 

"How  was  it  lying?" 

"About  the  middle  of  the  staircase,  I  believe." 

"A  little  to  the  left,  with  the  fingers  pointing  to  the 
door?" 

"Exactly — close  to  the  wall." 

"It  is  a  right-hand  glove.  He  was  carrying  it  in  his 
left  hand  and  dropped  it  when  running  downstairs." 
Shagarach  said  this  sotto  voce,  as  if  to  himself. 

"Who?    Floyd?" 

"The  incendiary." 

"I  don't  know  that  I  ever  saw  young  Floyd  with  gloves 
on  except  in  winter.  Seems  too  loud  for  him  anyway — 
more  like  some  swell's." 

"You  will  leave  this  with  me?" 

"Glad  to,  glad  if  it  helps  you,"  said  the  officer,  rising 
to  go.  Shagarach  took  his  hand  and  thanked  him,  then 
tried  on  the  glove  and  studied  it  for  fully  five  minutes 
before  admitting  his  regular  clients.  If  it  were  Floyd's 
the  case  had  neither  gained  nor  lost.  But  he  felt  that  the 
kid  was  too  fine,  the  make  too  fashionable,  for  the  eccen- 
tric young  radical,  who,  as  Chandler  had  noticed,  never 
wore  gloves  except  for  protection  against  the  cold. 
There  was  no  hint  of  identity  about  it.  Had  it  belonged 
to  Harry  Arnold?  If  so,  how  did  it  happen  to  lie  on  the 
stairs  of  his  uncle's  house  immediately  after  the  fire? 
******* 

The  island  fort  was  a  many-angled  specimen  of  ancient 
masonry,  following  the  shore  line  of  an  islet  in  the 
harbor.  It  was  useless  now.  No  flag  streamed  from 
its  pole.  Passing  vessels  no  longer  saluted  it,  only  a 
lame  old  sergeant  being  about  to  protect  the  property. 
By  an  arrangement  with  the  local  authorities  it  had  been 
converted  into  a  pleasure-ground  and  connected  with  an 
adjacent  peninsular  of  the  city  by  a  pier  or  bridge  of 
half  a  mile's  length.  This  was  the  rendezvous  mentioned 
by  the  anonymous  correspondent. 

When  Shagarach  stepped  from  the  car  on  his  way  to 
meet  Mr.  Skull-and-Crossbones  he  found  that  he  was 


THE   INCENDIARY.  153 

early.  It  still  wanted  twenty  minutes  to  the  appointed 
hour.  The  humanity  of  the  district  was  just  rising  from 
its  supper  tables  in  teeming  tenements  to  enjoy  the  cool 
liberty  of  the  twilight  air,  and  Shagarach  listened  to  the 
sayings  of  the  multitude  whose  current  he  found  himself 
stemming.  They  were  flowing  to  an  open-air  concert 
at  some  point  behind  him.  The  correspondent  had  timed 
his  evening  well  for  a  lonely  conference. 

As  he  approached  the  pier  the  crowd  thinned  and  at 
last  he  found  himself  walking  near  the  water  alone.  Ships 
were  putting  into  port,  with  red  and  green  caution  lights 
hung  aloft.  The  sea,  now  violet,  melted  into  the  sky 
and  a  gathering  dimness  subdued  everything  to  one  tone. 
Only  the  black  tree-masses  and  the  outlines  of  the  houses 
stood  out  somberly  distinct. 

"We  violate  nature/'  said  Shagarach  to  himself,  "with 
our  angular,  unsightly  houses,  but  she  puts  her  own  fairer 
version  on  all  at  last — mosses  the  manse,  curves  the 
beach,  litters  the  ruin,  bathes  the  hard  carpentry  and 
mason  work  of  the  city  with  soft  twilight  balm.''  He 
looked  back  upon  the  sad  accumulation  of  misery,  amid 
whose  foulest  reek  he  was  doomed  to  live.  A  greenish 
tint  hung  over  it  where  the  sunset  had  sunk.  It  was  a 
rare  hue  for  the  heavens  to  wear — something  bizarre 
yet  beautiful,  like  yellow  roses. 

Thus  far  Shagarach  had  walked  alone.  Leaning  over 
the  railing  on  the  right,  he  saw  three  boys  fishing  in  a 
dory  below.  One  of  them  was  just  lighting  a  lantern, 
for  the  thick  dusk  had  begun  to  gather.  The  penetrat- 
ing silence  favored  their  occupation  and  he  paused  a 
moment  to  watch  the  silver-bellied  mackerel  slapping 
their  bodies  in  the  basket.  A  little  farther  on  an  oafish 
monster  stood  against  the  railing  on  the  left.  Shagarach 
thought  he  leered  mirthlessly  when  their  eyes  met. 

Then  at  the  middle  of  the  pier  he  came  to  a  closed 
gate,  shutting  off  access  to  the  island. 

"No  admission  to  the  fort  after  7  p.  m. ''  He  had 

started  to  read  the  placard,  when  suddenly  he  felt  him- 
self seized  from  behind.  A  hand  over  his  mouth  throttled 
the  outcry  he  launched.  It  was  too  late  to  reach  for 


154  THE   INCENDIARY. 

the  revolver.  A  brief,  fierce  trial  of  strength  and  he  found 
himself  forced  over  the  railing  into  the  water.  The 
shock,  to  one  who  had  never  entered  the  ocean  before, 
was  icy  as  death. 

His  senses  did  not  depart  from  him.  He  made  an  effort 
to  lie  still  on  the  surface  and  to  hold  his  breath.  A 
hideous  face  projected  over  the  railing,  printed  itself  on 
his  memory,  and  then  disappeared.  He  knew  that  he 
clutched  his  assailant's  cap  in  his  right  hand,  and  that  the 
lights  of  the  city  were  dancing  before  him  as  he  rose 
and  sunk.  Then  the  only  thing  he  felt  was  the  gurgling 
of  the  deep,  dark  water  nearer,  nearer,  nearer.  How  to 
fight  it  off?  His  hands  wildly  strove  to  push  it  away. 
All  the  sweetness  of  the  world  he  was  leaving  flashed 
through  him  in  one  pregnant  second,  whereupon  his 
resolution  yielded.  He  opened  his  lips  to  utter  the  fatal 
"Help!"  of  the  drowning  man,  and  the  element  rushed 
in  and  made  him  its  own. 


CHAPTER  XXL 

THE   BREWING   STORM. 

Friday  was  to  be  the  last  day  of  Warden  Tapp's  tenure, 
and  Robert  was  aware  that  the  convicts  had  determined 
to  celebrate  his  removal  by  some  demonstration  of  their 
joy.  Everybody  was  dissatisfied  with  his  government — 
the  public,  his  deputies,  his  charges,  alike.  Stalking 
about  with  that  inveterate  preference  for  his  own  com- 
pany which  had  won  him  the  nickname  of  "The  Pelican," 
he  gnawed  his  huge  mustache  in  a  manner  that  seemed 
to  betray  that  he  was  not  oversatisfied  with  the  results 
himself. 

The  prison  which  he  had  taken  from  his  predecessor, 
as  orderly  as  any  barracks  the  world  over,  he  left  to 
his  successor  (a  military  man)  slovenly,  rebellious  and 
tunneled  with  secret  avenues  of  communication  to  the 
outside  world.  He  had  begun  with  leniency  and  a  smil- 


.    THE    INCENDIARY.  155 

ing  face.  Vice,  indolence  and  a  thousand  weedy  growths 
flourished  up  under  his  elevated  chin.  When  he  awoke 
at  last  his  rigor  in  uprooting  them  was  intemperate  and 
ineffectual.  Several  felons  escaped.  A  riot  broke  out 
and  the  warden  had  been  helplessly  holding  the  reins 
behind  a  runaway  horse  ever  since. 

He  had  flogged  men  for  not  saluting  when  he  passed, 
yet  he  was  hooted  at  every  time  he  showed  his  head  to 
the  crowd.  He  had  strung  three  brushmakers  up  by  the 
thumbs  for  idling,  yet  every  shop  except  the  harness- 
makers,  in  spite  of  free  labor,  showed  a  deficit  for 
the  last  half-year.  The  cells  were  so  littered  with  stor- 
age that  it  was  almost  impossible  to  enter  them.  Con- 
traband tobacco,  gift  books,  tools,  bird  cages,  shirts  and 
shoes  smuggled  from  the  workshops,  even  knives  and 
revolvers,  were  found  in  them. 

The  "block,"  or  dark  dungeon,  was  always  full.  If 
some  dozen  of  the  conniving  deputies  had  been  sent 
there,  Warden  Tapp  might  have  had  less  to  extenuate. 

"It's  quiet  this  evening,"  said  Robert  to  Dobbs  on 
Thursday. 

"That's  the  lull  before  the  storm,  my  boy,"  said  the 
cracksman. 

"You  think  we'll  have  trouble,  then?" 

"Keep  your  'ead  in,  my  boy,  when  it  rains.  These 
'ere  coves  '11  get  a  wetting  that'll  spoil  their  Sunday 
duds.  They  'aven't  no  hart." 

"No  what?" 

"No  hart,  no  hingenuity.  They  hask  first  and  then  try 
to  take  it.  We'll  take  what  we  want  first — honly  a  little 
fresh  air,  Bobbs — and  then  we'll  hask  for  it,  as  a  matter 
of  form.  Hi'm  horfully  punctilious  on  forms,  Bobbs." 

Dobbs  chuckled  at  the  prospect  of  writing  a  letter 
to  the  warden,  requesting  his  release  from  the  safe  dis- 
tance of  3,000  miles. 

"Hi  ain't  the  fool  of  the  family,  ham  Hi,  Bobbs?" 

"Who's  that  talking  now,  Dobbs?'' 

"The  thick-mouthed  cove  wot  gets  choked  with  'is 
hown  Adam's  happle?  That's  Quirk." 


156  THE   INCENDIARY. 

"Quirk?"  It  was  the  familiar  voice  he  had  often  tried 
to  place,  but  Floyd  knew  nobody  named  Quirk. 

"What  is  he  grumbling  for?  Is  he  a  ring-leader 
among  the  men?" 

"Ring-leader,  ho,  no.  Ee  lost  'is  temper  the  first  time 
ee  saw  'is  mug  in  the  quicksilver  and  ee's  never  found 
it  since." 

This  conversation  had  been  conducted  face  to  face 
in  the  dark  through  the  aperture  formed  by  the  removal 
of  four  bricks  on  each  side  of  the  partition.  Dobbs 
had  already  outlined  a  general  plan  to  Robert  by  which 
they  were  to  escape.  He  was  only  waiting,  he  said,  for 
his  "chummy"  to  "drop  the  sweet  hinnocence  game 
and  hown  up  ee  wasn't  a  lamb." 

"So   you    expect   me    to    climb    through    that   hole, 
Dobbs?" 
'   "If  you  won't  gnaw  your  hown  bars,  you  must." 

"It's  too  small." 

"Then  we'll  stretch  her  till  she  fits,  as  the  'aberdasher 
said  when  'is  royal  'ighness'  trousers  didn't  meet  round 
'is  royal  'ighness'  waistband." 

"I  doubt  if  even  six  will  be  wide  enough.  The  bricks 
are  only  eight  by  four  apiece,  and  I  think  I'm  more 
than  sixteen  by  twelve.'' 

"Can  a  cat  jump  through  a  keyhole?  No-sirree.  But 
a  corpuscle  can  wiggle  through  a  capillary." 

About  II  o'clock  the  next  morning  the  entire  prison 
force  was  summoned  to  the  rotunda  to  hear  the  farewell 
address  of  the  warden.  The  rotunda  was  a  great  round 
hall  at  one  end  of  the  bastile,  or  prison  proper,  com- 
municating through  two  double  doors  with  the  warden's 
office,  from  which  it  was  only  a  step  to  the  street.  Look- 
ing around  at  the  desperate  gallery  of  600  faces,  all 
shaven,  but  ill-shaven,  and  most  of  them  brutal  from 
the  indulgence  of  hateful  passions,  Robert  thought  how 
small  a  chance  the  forty  keepers  stood  if  that  sullen 
herd  should  ever  stampede. 

But  the  walls  of  the  rotunda  were  undressed  bowlders 
of  granite  and  the  windows  all  around  were  double- 
barred  with  iron  rods  that  looked  strong  enough  to  hold 


THE   INCENDIARY.  157 

up  a  mountain.  Only  the  rear  doors  were  vulnerable 
at  all,  and  these  simply  led  through  the  kitchen  to  the 
cells,  or  right  and  left  into  the  yard,  at  the  end  of  which, 
and  all  along  one  side,  abutting  the  rotunda,  were  the 
workshops,  while  the  other  side  was  impregnable  with 
its  twenty-foot  wall. 

Flanked  by  Gradger  and  Longlegs,  the  Pelican  rose 
to  address  his  mutineers.  At  his  approach  there  was 
such  a  tremendous  joggling  in  the  crowd,  that  for  a 
time  it  looked  as  if  the  volcano  would  burst  then  and 
there.  But  three  spokesmen  who  had  wriggled  their 
way  to  the  front  stepped  forward  with  their  hands  clasped 
over  their  heads  as  a  token  of  peaceful  intentions  and 
requested  the  privilege  of  a  word  to  the  warden.  They 
were  all  marked  men,  undergoing  long  sentences  and 
recognized  as  dangerous  criminals.  The  difference  of 
type  between  them  was  conspicuous  as  they  stood  in 
front  of  the  surging  crowd — Dickon  Harvey,  the  Right 
Spur  and  Minister  Slick. 

Dickon  Harvey  was  a  diamond  thief,  polished  in 
person  and  of  fluent  address.  Like  those  madmen  in 
asylums  whom  the  casual  visitor  finds  perfectly  rational 
and  indeed  delightful  companions,  Dickon  Harvey 
never  failed  to  convince  callers  at  the  prison  of  his  moral 
sanity.  He  admitted  past  misuse  of  undeniable  talents, 
though  stoutly  denying  the  particular  crime  upon  which 
he  was  sentenced.  His  legends  of  early  temptation  and 
ambition  to  reform  had  softened  the  heart  of  many  a 
philanthropist  to  pity.  But  his  cold  eye  glittered  with 
a  point  of  light  sharp  enough  to  cut  the  Koh-i-noor,  and 
a  turnkey  of  exceptional  ability  was  assigned  to  the  ward 
which  contained  Dickon  Harvey. 

The  Right  Spur  derived  his  sobriquet  from  his  position 
as  head  of  the  rooster  gang.  There  was  little  of  what 
Dobbs  called  "hart"  in  his  line  of  work,  which  consisted 
simply  in  sandbagging  and  garroting  picked-up 
acquaintances  or  passers-by.  But  in  the  crude  occupa- 
tion of  the  footpad  he  had  displayed  a  brute  daring  that 
had  surrounded  his  name  with  associations  of  terror,  and 
this  diabolical  halo  had  been  brightened  and  enlarged 


158  THE    INCENDIARY. 

by  his  turbulence  in  jail.  He  was  middle-sized  and  bar- 
rel-built, with  the  complexion  of  a  teamster,  a  wicked 
smile  and  a  scar. 

Minister  Slick's  career  would  be  pictured  by  a  line 
more  excursive  than  the  diagram  with  which  Sterne  rep- 
resents the  history  of  Tristram  Shandy.  His  criminal 
twist  had  begun  just  where  most  men's  end.  Up  to  the 
age  of  forty  he  had  been  able  to  delude  several  con- 
gregations into  a  belief  in  his  fitness  for  the  sacred  min- 
istry. His  sermons  had  been  noted  no  less  for  unction 
than  for  orthodoxy,  their  only  heresies  being  grammat- 
ical ones.  Then  came  a  fall,  sudden  and  irretrievable. 
In  a  few  months  he  had  developed  unusual  skill  as  a 
confidence  man,  in  which  he  was  aided  by  a  certain 
oiliness  of  manner  and  insinuating  ease  of  speech.  He 
was  tall  and  dignified,  with  a  long  gray  beard,  which 
Tapp  permitted  him  to  wear  on  account  of  a  chronic 
quinsy,  though  his  kennel-mates  whispered  this  was  all 
in  your  eye — a  strange  location  to  be  sure,  for  a  clergy- 
man's sore  throat — but  minute  veracity  was  never  ex- 
pected of  Minister  Slick. 

"Mr.  Warden,"  said  Dickon  Harvey,  "I  am  desired, 
with  my  fellow-spokesmen,  by  the  entire  community, 
to  tender  you  our  deepest  respect  upon  your  retirement 
from  the  office  whose  duties  you  have  so  conscientiously 
fulfilled." 

Tapp's  lips  quivered.    Was  this  irony  or  praise? 

"If  you  have  not  always  met  with  success,  if  our 
interests  and  yours  have  seemed  to  clash  at  times,  be- 
lieve me  there  are  few  among  us  who  do  not  appre- 
ciate that  the  fault  is  in  the  system  and  not  the  man." 

"The  system,  the  system/'  there  rose  a  murmur  among 
the  men,  which  died  away  like  a  stifled  cry  when  Long- 
legs  raised  his  gun. 

"We  have  read  with  interest  the  article  on  'Prison 
Discipline,'  contributed  by  you  to  the  last  number  of 
the  Penological  Quarterly,  and  the  petition  we  present 
is,  we  believe,  in  line  with  most  of  the  reforms  you 
suggest." 

"You  desire  to  present  me  a  petition.    Of  what  value 


THE   INCENDIARY.  159 

is  that?    Col.  Mainwaring  enters  to-morrow.    It  belongs 
to  him." 

"A  recommendation  from  yourself,  Mr.  Warden,"  an- 
swered Minister  Slick,  "would  surely  have  great  weight." 
"What  is  the  burden  of  your  document?" 
Dickon  Harvey  removed  a  paper  from  his  "budge." 
"A  seriatim  schedule  of  the  reforms  which  we  respect- 
fully ask  to  be  enacted." 

"Take  the  paper  to  your  office,''  whispered  Longlegs 
to  the  warden,  but  the  obstinate  official  only  flushed 
angrily  at  his  presumption. 

"I  will  hear  what  you  have  to  say,"  he  said,  weakly 
clutching  at  this  last  hope  of  favor  among  the  convicts. 
Dickon  Harvey  proceeded  to  read  his  production. 

"To  the  Warden  of  Georgetown  State  Prison:  We,  the  un- 
dersigned, being  inmates  of  your  institution  and  the  chief  suf- 
ferers by  its  irregularities  of  government,  hereby  offer  and 
present  the  following  schedule  of  reforms  which  we  regard  as 
necessary — ; — " 

"Necessary,"  emphasized  the  Right  Spur,  and  nearly 
500  heads  wagged  approval. 

"Necessary  to  the  quiet  and  welfare  of  the  community. 

"1.  That  the  grotesque,  degrading,  uncomfortable  and  un- 
healthful  striped  garb  which  we  are  at  present  condemned  to 
wear  be  exchanged  for  a  uniform  of  gray  woolen  goods. 

"2.  That  the  practice  of  shaving,  designed  to  destroy  our 
self-respect  and  efface  all  evidences  of  our  former  and  better 
identity,  be  abolished,  and  each  man  allowed  free  choice  in  the 
matter  of  his  personal  appearance,  which  concerns  himself  so 
deeply  and  nobody  else  at  all. 

"3.  That  intervals  of  conversation  be  allowed  among  the 
whist  parties.  (This  was  the  local  name  of  the  shop-gang,  who, 
under  the  existing  system,  were  compelled  to  work  amid  a 
silence  as  absolute  as  that  of  a  Trappist  monastery.) 

"4.  That  the  dunce-cap  rule  be  suspended  and  workers  who 
happen  to  be  unemployed  for  a  few  moments  be  allowed  to  sit 
at  their  benches  instead  of  standing  face  to  the  wall. 

"5.  That  the  cat-o'-nine-tails  and  thumb-screw  be  abolished 
and  punishment  limited  to  the  block  or  extension  of  sentence, 
and  that  the  rules  for  shortening  of  sentence  on  account  of 
good  behavior  be  made  more  liberal. 

"6.  That  the  tobacco  rations  and  weekly  prune  stew  be  re- 
stored. 


160  THE  INCENDIARY. 

"7.  That  the  cells  be  lighted  until  9  o'clock  with  a  gas-jet 
in  each,  and  reading  or  writing  allowed. 

"8.  That  Ezra  C.  Hawkins,  Kenneth  Douglas,  Murtagh  Mc- 
Morrow  and  Johann  Koerber  be  discharged  for  inordinate  and 
unnecessary  severity  and  cruelty." 

This  article  was  greeted  with  a  swell  of  cheers  and 
taunts  which  Tapp  seemed  impotent  to  quell. 

"9.    That  favoritism  and  privilege  shall  be  a  thing  unknown." 

Another  bellow  greeted  this,  and  Floyd  knew  from 
the  glance  that  the  clause  was  a  blow  at  himself.  The 
cell  he  occupied  was  known  as  "the  parlor"  from  its 
greater  width,  its  ventilation  and  its  possession  of  a  read- 
ing-table and  cupboard.  There  was  jealousy,  moreover, 
because  he  had  been  allowed  to  do  light  work  about 
the  greenhouse  (which  he  was  entirely  competent  to  su- 
pervise, from  his  botanical  knowledge)  instead  of  being 
put  at  a  bench.  They  forgot  that  his  status  was  different 
from  theirs.  The  labor  was  quite  voluntary. 

"10.  That  the  indeterminate  sentence  be  put  into  effect,  so 
that  through  the  specious  pretext  of  punishing  crime,  the 
abominable  crime  of  depriving  peaceable  and  perfectly  harm- 
less citizens,  who  have  bitterly  atoned  for  some  past  pecca- 
dillo and  earnestly  desire  to  demonstrate  their  change  of  spirit 
to  the  world,  be  not  committed  under  the  sanction  of  law." 

Harvey  handed  the  petition  to  Tapp.  It  was,  on  the 
whole,  an  enlightened  document.  Two  of  the  men  who 
prepared  it  were  probably  as  able  as  any  of  the  officials 
of  the  prison.  Robert  could  see  the  different  hands  at 
work  in  its  composition.  The  "past  peccadilloes"  were 
Dickon  Harvey's  "flim-flam"  adventures,  while  the  de- 
mands for  more  tobacco,  for  Hawkins'  removal  and  the 
reduction  of  his  own  "privileges''  were  a  concession  to 
the  ruffian  element,  represented  by  the  Right  Spur  of 
the  Rooster  gang.  Yet  several  of  the  recommendations 
were  as  wise  and  sound  as  though  all  the  prison  associa- 
tions in  the  country  had  indorsed  them. 

"Prisoners "  Tapp  started  to  reply. 

"No  gammon,"  interrupted  the  Right  Spur,  scowling, 
while  a  hundred  other  scowls  immediately  gathered  on 
the  foreheads  of  his  particular  followers. 


THE   INCENDIARY.  161 

Tapp  colored  again.  His  obstinacy  was  aroused.  He 
was  not  a  timid  man. 

"It  would  be  a  breach  of  courtesy  toward  my  succes- 
sor to  offer  him  such  suggestions.  I  do  not  propose 
to  recommend  the  discharge  of  employes  whose  only 
offense  is  their  fidelity  to  duty ;  neither  do  I  propose  to 
constitute  myself  the  spokesman  of  a  mob  of  law-break- 
ers." 

A  hiss — the  most  hateful  sound  that  issues  from  the 
human  throat,  with  its  serpentine  suggestions  and  its 
vagueness  of  origin — greeted  this  challenge.  The  keep- 
ers gripped  their  guns,  awaiting  an  order,  but  the  Pelican 
stood  helpless,  furious,  perplexed. 

"To  the  shops!"  he  cried  at  last,  and  the  triumphant 
convicts  were  driven  like  a  herd  of  cattle  to  their  tables 
and  tools.  There  were  muffled  yells  from  the  offenders 
buried  in  the  block  when  they  passed  it;  and  at  dinner, 
when  the  men  filed  up  to  the  kitchen  slide  and  carried  off 
their  platters  of  bread  and  pork,  a  dozen  unruly  boarders 
were  only  subdued  to  moderate  quiet  at  the  rifle's  point. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 
A  BATTLE   IN   THE    ROTUNDA. 

At  2  o'clock  the  alarm  bell  rang  out'thirteen  ominous 
notes.  This  was  the  fire-box  of  the  prison.  The  flames 
had  broken  out  in  the  wicker-workers'  shop,  where  the 
younger  and  lighter  convicts  plaited  summer  chairs, 
flower-stands  and  all  kinds  of  basket  articles.  On  a  high 
throne  set  against  the  middle  of  one  wall  sat  Johann 
Koerber,  the  deputy  in  charge,  overseeing  everything, 
pistol  in  hand.  He  was  a  Titan  of  300  pounds,  who 
might  have  proved  admirable  in  his  proper  work  of  put- 
ting maniacs  in  strait-jackets.  But  his  selection  as  over- 
seer of  the  work-rooms  was  another  instance  of  Tapp's 
want  of  judgment.  For  all  his  formidable  strength, 
Koerber  lacked  the  power  to  govern.  The  slenderest 


162  THE   INCENDIARY. 

boy  did  not  fear  him,  while  even  "papa,"  the  giant  negro 
who  loaded  the  teams,  stood  in  awe  of  "Slim"  Butler,  the 
lightweight  deputy  who  had  charge  of  the  harness- 
makers.  Right  under  Koerber's  eye,  the  match  was  ap- 
plied in  several  places,  and  almost  before  he  smelled 
smoke  the  canes  and  osiers  were  on  fire. 

Then  came  the  wild  riot.  In  every  shop  but  "Slim" 
Butler's  the  officer  in  charge  was  overpowered  before 
the  alarm  bell  had  ceased  ringing.  Butler  held  his  men 
down  by  sheer  strength  of  will,  until  the  sight  of  others 
rushing  about  in  the  yard  below  drove  the  men  at  the 
windows  to  frenzy,  and  with  the  loss  of  one  of  their 
number  the  brave  deputy  was  disarmed,  mangled, 
crushed.  Brushmakers,  tailors,  shoemakers,  saddlers, 
teamsters  and  handy  men,  all  streamed  from  the  work- 
shop doors,  making  by  concert  toward  the  wire  pole  in 
the  middle  of  the  yard.  Here  the  Right  Spur  was  exe- 
cuting a  dangerous  but  ingenious  maneuver. 

Astride  of  the  cross-bars  of  the  pole,  which  he  had 
climbed  in  full  view  of  a  dozen  deputies,  he  was  cutting 
the  thick  telephone  wire  with  a  huge  pair  of  shears.  The 
thing  could  be  done  in  twenty  seconds  if  his  confeder- 
ates mobbed  the  keepers  below,  and  it  might  mean  a 
delay  of  twenty  minutes  in  the  arrival  of  re-enforce- 
ments from  the  nearest  station.  Stupefied  and  absorbed, 
the  convict  crew  were  gazing  upward  at  their  chief  on 
his  perilous  perch,  when  the  tall  form  of  Hawkins  was 
seen  striding  down  from  the  bath-room  entrance.  The 
other  deputies  had  contented  themselves  with  fronting 
the  crowd,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  rifles  leveled,  like  a 
herd  of  musk-bulls  with  lowered  horns  defending  their 
females  against  wolves  or  men.  Hawkins  raised  his  rifle 
and  fired. 

The  bullet  missed  its  mark  and  the  crack  of  the  pow- 
der roused  the  convicts  from  their  stupor.  With  a 
bestial  cry  and  faces  on  fire,  the  forward  rank,  pushed 
on  by  those  behind,  swept  down  on  the  group  of  depu- 
ties. Chisels,  mallets,  hammers,  tools  and  weapons  of 
all  kinds  from  a  wheel-spoke  to  a  blunderbuss  were 
brandished  in  their  hands.  One  volley  and  the  deputies 


THE  INCENDIARY.  163 

fled — all  but  Hawkins.  Almost  simultaneously,  it 
seemed,  the  second  barrel  of  his  rifle  hurled  its  missile, 
the  Right  Spur  was  seen  to  drop  from  his  post,  dragging 
the  severed  wire  with  him  to  the  ground,  and  "Long- 
legs"  himself  was  felled,  bleeding  and  senseless,  with  a 
heavy  bottle. 

The  mob  would  have  been  glad  to  outrage  his  body, 
but  time  was  precious  and  Dickon  Harvey  had  already 
sped  to  the  north  corner  of  the  "bastile"  and  was  beck- 
oning and  summoning  his  men  to  follow.  They  rushed 
in  his  wake,  turned  one  corner  of  the  bastile  and  then 
another,  gave  a  great  shout  of  joy  as  they  saw  the  wide 
outlet  of  freedom  before  them. 

The  bastile  was  the  great  granite  castle  which  con- 
tained the  cells,  a  continuation  of  the  rotunda.  It  pro- 
jected into  the  yard,  leaving  a  wide  space  at  one  end 
and  at  both  sides.  On  the  opposite  side  from  that  in 
which  the  shops  were  located  stood  the  greenhouses, 
where  Robert  Floyd  was  accustomed  to  work  whenever 
he  wearied  of  writing.  He  had  been  crouching  under 
the  slant  glass  roof  of  the  conservatory,  snipping  off  the 
dead  leaves,  when  the  alarm  bell  sounded.  The  cries 
on  the  other  side  of  the  bastile  brought  him  out  on  the 
open  grass  plot,  and  he  was  standing  there,  scissors  in 
hand,  when  the  convict  pack  swept  toward  him  around 
the  angle  100  yards  away.  At  the  same  time  he  heard 
the  impatient  bells  of  the  fire-engines  jingling  up  the 
street. 

The  riot  had  been  ably  planned.  Over  on  this  side 
of  the  yard  stood  the  entrance  for  teams.  It  was  this 
point  that  the  fire  engines  from  without  and  the  convicts 
from  within  were  making  for  together.  The  alternative 
offered  was  that  of  letting  the  workshops  burn  or  of 
emptying  the  jail  of  its  inmates.  Outside  there  was  a 
ponderous  iron  gate,  guarded  by  a  deputy.  Within  this 
a  stout  one  of  oak  wood,  which  a  convict  was  detailed  to 
open  and  shut.  This  convict  was  no  other  than  Minister 
Slick,  who  had  persuaded  the  warden  to  assign  him  to 
this  light  duty  on  the  score  of  advancing  age  and  feeble- 
ness. 


164  THE   INCENDIARY. 

Minister  Slick's  door  was  only  open  a  crack.  He  was 
too  cunning  to  give  the  deputy  outside  a  view  of  the 
convicts  racing  down  the  yard.  Not  until  the  outer  iron 
gate  was  swung  back  and  the  fire  horses  came  galloping 
along  did  he  throw  his  own  gate  in,  without  any  marked 
evidence  of  "feebleness."  The  fire  engine  burst  through; 
the  convicts  were  at  hand.  Before  the  heavy  iron  gate 
outside  could  be  shut  they  would  be  down  upon  its 
guardian  and  he  would  be  swept  aside  like  a  sapling  be- 
fore the  mo'ose. 

Floyd  was  quick  to  take  in  the  situation  and  quick  to 
choose  his  course  of  action.  The  deputies  were  flying  in 
every  direction  before  the  victorious  mob.  A  hundred 
yards  can  be  covered  in  a  very  few  seconds,  even  by  men 
who  are  not  professional  sprinters.  The  wooden  gate 
must  not  remain  open. 

The  fire  engine  shielded  him  from  the  gaze  of  Minister 
Slick,  who  had  drawn  a  revolver,  but,  not  daring  to 
attack  the  outside  deputy  alone,  stood  awaiting  the  onset 
of  his  fellow-prisoners.  Robert  was  upon  him  in  an 
instant  and  drove  the  greenhouse  scissors  into  his  neck, 
then  thrust  him  aside,  swung  the  door  to  with  a  mighty 
shove  and  turned  just  in  time  to  dodge  the  rush  of  the 
maddened  convicts. 

Fifty  of  them  flung  themselves  against  the  gate.  It 
groaned  but  held  firm.  The  original  oak  had  buffeted 
winter  gales  fiercer  than  this,  when  the  sap  was  in  its 
veins  and  its  green  leaves  rustled  about  the  spreading 
branches.  Like  a  wave  of  ocean  breaking  into  foam 
against  a  cliff  the  oncoming  mob  scattered  and  reeled 
back  in  indecision.  Several  of  them  made  at  Robert, 
hurling  their  weapons  at  his  flying  form.  Others  ran 
along  the  great  wall,  like  tigers  along  their  cage  bars, 
as  if  feeling  for  an  opening.  Only  Dickon  Harvey, 
from  the  moment  that  the  inner  gate  clanged,  had  stood 
still  in  the  middle  of  the  clashing  throng,  turning  his 
head  to  and  fro  and  studying  the  situation.  He  was  not 
slow  to  make  up  his  mind. 

"Out  by  the  rotunda!"  he  shouted,  waving  his  hand, 
and  the  whole  rabble  was  making  for  the  rotunda  before 


THE  INCENDIARY.  165 

the  fire-horses  had  rounded  the  angle  of  the  bastile  at 
the  other  end  of  the  yard. 

Now  Robert,  hemmed  in  by  a  broad  line  of  400  armed 
opponents,  had  already  chosen  this  outlet  of  escape  for 
himself.  He  had  foiled  their  plan  and  it  would  go  hard 
with  him  if  he  and  they  should  remain  within  these 
prison  walls  alone.  There  was  a  possibility  that  the  fly- 
ing deputies  had  left  the  rotunda  doors  ajar,  since  they 
were  so  heavy  as  to  require  several  seconds  to  open  and 
shut.  So  through  the  kitchen,  up  the  iron  stairs  and 
across  the  tiled  floor  of  the  rotunda  he  sped,  with  the 
foremost  of  the  pursuers  almost  at  his  heels.  Only  one 
deputy,  Gradger,  opposed  himself  to  his  progress,  gun 
in  hand,  and  Robert  eluded  him  with  the  ease  of  a  foot- 
ball dodger. 

Both  doors  were  ajar,  the  outer  one,  however,  only  a 
dozen  inches  or  less.  Perhaps  twenty  feet  lay  between 
him  and  safety.  He  had  almost  flung  himself  upon  the 
knob,  when  a  man  coming  toward  him  from  the  outside 
forestalled  his  purpose  and  drew  the  door  to  with  a 
clang.  It  was  Tapp,  who  from  his  office,  unable  to  rally 
his  routed  deputies,  was  rushing  to  the  scene  of  the  riot, 
determined  to  retrieve  by  a  last  act  of  courage  the  num- 
berless shortcomings  of  his  administration. 

Robert's  predicament  was  fearful.  The  door  barred 
egress,  the  dogs  were  at  his  heels.  Something  of  the 
cowering  awe  that  benumbs  the  stag  when  his  legs  at 
last  tremble  under  him  and  he  turns  to  face  the  baying 
pack  swept  through  his  breast  for  an  instant.  But  it  was 
no  more  than  an  instant,  for  the  young  man's  blood  was 
roused  and  it  was  not  unmixed  with  iron.  With  a  leap 
at  the  knob  and  a  mighty  tug  he  drew  the  inner  door 
between  himself  and  the  criminals. 

A  snarl,  hardly  human,  burst  from  hundreds  of  throats 
when  they  saw  this  last  avenue  closed.  The  thick  glass 
of  the  door  was  splintered  in  a  jiffy  and  vicious  hands, 
armed  with  bludgeons  and  cutting  tools,  stretched 
through  the  bars  at  the  traitor  who  had  twice  cheated 
them.  As  green  displaces  yellow  in  the  chameleon's 
coat,  so  a  wave  of  revenge  suddenly  swept  aside  the  hope 


166  THE   INCENDIARY. 

of  escape  in  the  temper  of  the  crowd.  Fortunately  the 
space  between  the  two  doors  was  so  wide  that  Robert 
could  back  away  and  avoid  the  blows  intended  for  his 
vitals. 

But  he  had  not  reckoned  on  Dickon  Harvey.  'Har- 
vey had  been  the  first  to  hurl  himself  on  the  door  that 
Robert  drew  between  the  convicts  and  himself.  With- 
out a  word,  without  a  moment  of  hesitation,  he  had 
turned  back  diagonally,  the  others  making  a  lane  for 
him,  and  thrown  himself  on  the  turnkey  Gradger.  The 
struggle  was  fierce.  Had  Harvey  been  alone,  he  would 
have  gone  down  underneath  in  the  bout.  But  he  was 
not  alone.  Twenty  hands  reached  at  the  keeper  and 
presently  Harvey  came  pushing  through  the  others, 
waving  a  huge  bunch  of  keys  over  his  head  with  a  shout 
that  the  whole  hall  echoed. 

Robert  looked  behind  him  through  the  outer  door. 
Tapp  had  disappeared  into  his  office.  There  was  only 
the  clerk  and  some  idlers  about  and  none  of  these,  if 
they  could  have  opened  the  door,  dared  to  exercise  the 
power.  It  was  only  a  question  of  time  when  Dickon 
Harvey  would  find  the  right  key.  He  could  see  the 
weapons  waving  in  bared  right  arms  and  the  shouts 
of  the  rabble  once  more  had  a  hopeful  ring.  He  said 
nothing,  did  nothing.  There  was  nothing  to  do.  But  a 
rippling  in  his  cheek  showed  that  his  teeth  were  clench- 
ing and  unclenching.  Instinctively  he  spread  his  arms 
out,  backing  against  the  outer  door,  clutching  the  bars 
and  facing  his  hunters.  It  was  the  attitude  of  crucifixion. 

"Ha!"  Dickon  Harvey  was  silent  as  death,  but  the 
shriek  of  exultation  told  that  his  wrist  had  turned  on 
the  handle  of  the  key.  It  fitted  the  wards.  Slowly,  all 
too  slowly  for  the  convicts,  all  too  quickly  for  Floyd,  the 
inner  door  was  drawn  ajar  and  the  foremost  men 
crouched  to  spring.  Then  came  a  crash  in  the  glass 
behind  Floyd  at  his  very  ear.  A  long  tube  of  steel  passed 
by  his  cheek,  and,  turning,  he  looked  into  the  eye  of 
Warden  Tapp  sighting  along  the  barrel  of  a  rifle.  The 
report  rang  out  and  Dickon  Harvey  fell  forward,  the 
keys  jangling  at  his  feet.  Robert  wrenched  them  from 


THE   INCENDIARY.  167 

his  unclasping  hand.  They  were  his  only  weapon.  He 
had  lost  the  scissors. 

At  the  fall  of  Harvey  the  men  recoiled  for  an  instant. 
Quickly  another  rifle,  and  another,  and  another  were 
thrust  through  the  bars  behind  Robert,  and  he  was  cau- 
tioned to  stand  motionless.  Like  a  mountebank's  daugh- 
ter, whose  body  outlined  against  a  board  the  father 
fringes  with  skillfully  cast  knives,  each  missing  her  by 
only  a  hair,  the  prisoner  stood  with  his  arms  outspread, 
protected  by  the  chevaux  de  frise  of  protruding  guns. 
Several  of  the  defenders  were  kneeling  and  one  thrust 
his  muzzle  between  the  young  man's  legs. 

"Retire!"  said  Tapp.  "Clear  the  rotunda!"  The  men 
sullenly  stood. 

"One!    Two " 

Before  the  fatal  "Three"  was  added  they  broke  and 
turned.  Then  the  muzzles  were  drawn  in,  the  door  be- 
hind Robert  opened  and  the  warden,  at  the  head  of  half 
a  dozen  deputies  and  a  dozen  policemen  who  had  just 
arrived,  charged  in  upon  them.  The  odds  were  twenty 
to  one,  but  with  the  Right  Spur  lying  senseless  under 
the  telephone  pole,  Minister  Slick  wounded  at  the  gate 
where  Robert  had  stabbed  him  and  Dickon  Harvey  dead 
on  the  threshold  to  freedom,  the  rabble  was  merely  a 
torso  of  Hercules,  formidable  in  physique  but  powerless 
without  head  or  limbs.  The  clubs  of  the  officers  made 
heavy  thuds  and  the  red  blood  starting  here  and  there 
splashed  curious  spots  of  color  in  the  dingy  crowd. 
At  one  stairway  Robert  saw  the  tall  form  of  Hawkins, 
bleeding  but  revived,  thrashing  around  with  an  empty 
gun  barrel.  Then  the  mob  was  driven  down  the  stairs, 
dividing  itself  into  two  portions  in  the  right  and  left 
yards. 

"Open  the  team  gate,"  cried  Hawkins,  leading  the 
deputies  and  officers  to  the  left,  through  the  kitchen,  in- 
stead of  to  the  right  through  the  bath-rooms,  whither 
Tapp  had  started.  This  time  the  warden  was  content 
to  follow  and  the  reason  became  at  once  apparent.  The 
solitary  fire  engine  stood  over  against  the  burning  shops, 
helpless  without  its  hose.  From  the  outside  several 


168  THE    INCENDIARY. 

streams  were  playing  on  the  buildings  and  the  firemen, 
mounting  by  ladders,  were  climbing  along  the  roof.  But 
access  from  within  was  necessary  if  any  headway  were 
to  be  made.  The  engines  stood  outside  the  gate,  occupy- 
ing the  interval  of  delay  by  getting  up  their  fires. 

Hawkins  stationed  his  men  in  a  cordon  across  the 
gate  and  admitted  the  engines  and  hose  carriages  and 
ladder  trucks.  One  by  one  they  dashed  by  till  as  many 
as  could  be  supplied  with  water  from  the  hydrants  in 
the  yard  had  entered.  Then  the  tall  deputy  locked  the 
others  out,  detailed  one  squad  to  guard  the  rotunda  and 
another  to  close  all  doors  of  the  bastile.  With  the  re- 
mainder of  the  company,  re-enforced  by  more  police- 
men and  keepers,  he  began  to  corral  his  steers. 

In  order  to  do  this  it  was  necessary  that  his  own  men 
should  maintain  the  solidarity  of  a  phalanx,  while  deploy- 
ing out  like  a  line  of  skirmishers  from  wall  to  wall. 
Spread  over  the  width  of  the  yard  at  one  side,  they  began 
their  march  with  rifles  and  revolvers  ready.  The  strag- 
glers fled  before  them.  Their  gait  was  slow.  Turning 
the  upper  angle,  an  ambush  was  to  be  feared,  but  the 
spirit  of  the  convicts  was  broken  and  they  only  hurled 
their  weapons  and  fled.  Hawkins  wheeled  his  line  to  the 
right,  making  the  pivot-mark  time,  and  passed  along 
the  end  of  the  yard,  which  was  deserted.  Turning  the 
second  angle,  a  more  desperate  resistance  was  shown. 
Here  all  was  confusion,  the  engines  and  burning  shops 
offering  places  of  refuge,  while  the  presence  of  the  fire- 
men made  it  impossible  to  shoot.  Hawkins  halted  his 
command. 

"All  firemen  in  the  yard  fall  behind  this  line!"  he 
shouted.  The  firemen  left  their  engines,  several  of  them 
only  tearing  themselves  away  by  force.  Three  were  cap- 
tured and  held  in  front  by  the  convicts.  The  others, 
seeing  this  murderous  purpose,  could  hardly  be  re- 
strained from  rushing  to  their  rescue. 

"Club  guns!"  cried  Hawkins,  and  the  breeches  instead 
of  the  muzzles  were  presented  to  the  mob.  But  they 
seemed  to  dread  this  end  of  the  weapon  as  much  as  the 
otker,  for  they  released  the  firemen  and  slowly  withdrew, 


THE    INCENDIARY.  169 

Hawkins'  line  continuing  its  Macedonian  march.  Sud- 
denly from  a  thick  nucleus  among  the  rebels,  a  spokes- 
man started  forward  with  a  white  handkerchief  tied  to 
a  pole.  Hawkins  motioned  him  back  and  the  march 
was  continued.  The  men  were  penned  up  against  the 
bath-room  entrance,  leading  into  the  rotunda  and  the 
bastile,  where  four  deputies  with  leveled  rifles  prevented 
escape.  Hawkins  had  cleared  the  hydrants  and  the  fire- 
men resumed  their  work. 

"Deputies  at  the  bath-room  door  fall  back  and  guard 
the  stairs  leading  up  to  the  rotunda!  The  prisoners  will 
file  into  their  cells  in  the  bastile!" 

This  was  the  last  straw.  A  yell  of  rage  burst  from  the 
mob.  To  be  flung  back  into  their  kennels  with  the 
bitter  crust  of  disappointment  to  gnaw,  and  the  prospect 
of  punishment  for  the  day's  misdoings,  this  was  too 
much  to  endure  without  a  last  resistance.  They  turned 
upon  their  keepers  with  the  courage  of  the  beast  at  bay. 

"Now!"  cried  Hawkins,  and  his  line  rushed  forward. 
The  hand-to-hand  struggle  of  the  rotunda  was  renewed 
more  equally,  for  there  were  resolute  men  in  the  mob, 
men  reckless  of  life  and  maddened  by  the  goading 
around  the  yard.  Nor  was  their  accoutrement  of  iron 
tools  despicable.  Dozens  slipped  through  the  line,  and 
policemen  as  well  as  convicts  were  seen  staggering  under 
blows.  But  the  timid  ones  speedily  fled  into  the  bas- 
tile, and,  thinning  the  multitude,  robbed  it  of  that  con- 
sciousness of  numerical  superiority  which  had  given  it 
confidence.  At  last  not  more  than  twenty  desperadoes 
remained,  backs  to  the  wall,  in  front  of  the  line. 

"Club  them  down!"  cried  Hawkins. 

There  was  no  choice  but  to  obey.  The  men  were  of 
that  mettle  which  breaks  but  does  not  bend.  One  by 
one  they  were  beaten  to  the  ground. 

The  whole  of  the  afternoon  was  required  to  lock  the 
mutineers  up  properly.  With  the  aid  of  those  pris- 
oners who  had  not  joined  the  riot  the  fire  in  the  shops 
was  finally  put  out  and  a  good  deal  of  the  property  was 
saved.  Only  one  life  had  been  lost,  that  of  Dickon 
Harvey,  but  the  hospital  beds  were  full  that  night. 


170  THE   INCENDIARY. 

When  Warden  Tapp  called  Robert  to  the  office  and 
thanked  him  in  person  for  his  behavior  at  the  team 
gate  and  in  the  rotunda  there  were  tears  in  the  proud 
man's  eyes.  This  was  a  shameful  legacy  of  ruin  and 
rebellion  which  he  was  leaving  to  his  successor. 

Passing  out  of  the  warden's  room,  through  the  ro- 
tunda, Robert  heard  the  familiar  voice  which  had  puzzled 
him  so  often. 

"Aisy,  Misther  Butler,  aisy,  for  the  love  o'  heaven,'' 
the  uncouth  fellow  groaned. 

Floyd  turned  and  looked.  "Slim"  Butler,  the  over- 
seer of  the  harness-shop,  was  superintending  the  trans- 
fer to  the  hospital  on  an  improvised  stretcher  of  the  pris- 
oner whom  he  had  shot  when  his  section  rose  against 
him.  His  own  head  was  bandaged  and  his  clothes  were 
burned.  The  firemen  had  rescued  them  both  with  diffi- 
culty. But  the  face  of  the  prisoner  caused  Robert  to 
start,  for  he  recognized  in  the  convict  whom  Dobbs 
called  Quirk  his  uncle's  coachman,  Dennis  Mungovan. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 
THREE   OF   A   KIND. 

"I've  got  him!  I've  got  him!  Take  his  other  arm, 
Toot!" 

"Let  go;  she's  tipping!" 

"Will  I  let  go  and  see  the  bloke  drownded?  You're 
a  spunky  feller,  Toot  Watts.  Anybody'd  think  you  never 
rocked  a  dory  before  yourself.  Get  up  in  the  stern, 
Turkey.  Now  pull  her  in  to  the  bridge  and  hold  on  to 
the  logs.  That'll  balance  her." 

With  one  hand  the  Whistler  held  the  drowning  man's 
arm,  while  with  the  other  he  lifted  his  chin  out  of  the 
water.  It  was  a  dangerous  position,  leaning  over  the 
bow  in  this  manner,  but  the  man  in  tow  was  uncon- 
scious and  could  not  struggle.  In  a  half-dozen  strokes 
Turkey  had  brought  the  dory's  stern  up  against  one  of 


THE    INCENDIARY.  171 

the  piles  of  the  pier.  This  support  he  clasped  with  might 
and  main,  while  Toot  and  the  Whistler  drew  the  body 
over  the  bow.  Both  were  breathing  hard  when  it  was 
finally  boarded. 

"Turn  him  over,"  cried  the  Whistler.  "You  take  the 
oars,  Turkey,  and  row  like  fury  for  the  beach.  Get  the 
bloke's  head  around,  Toot,  up  against  the  bow.  That's 
it.  Now  work  his  left  arm  up  and  down;  I'll  take  the 
right — not  so  fast — about  like  this.  That'll  make  him 
breathe." 

"Do  you  think  he's  dead?"  asked  Toot  in  an  awestruck 
whisper. 

"He  ain't  dead.     I  felt  of  his  heart." 

"I  seen  a  bloke  at  the  bath-house  that  was  in  the 
water  half  an  hour  and  they  brought  him  round,"  said 
Turkey,  panting  at  the  oars. 

"Keep  the  arm  going,  Toot.  Never  mind  if  you're 
tired." 

"Are  we  near  the  beach?"  asked  Toot.  He  was  the 
youngest  of  the  trio,  not  much  more  than  a  child,  in 
fact,  and  even  the  slum  child,  precocious  in  many  kinds 
of  knowledge,  does  not  peep  without  tremors  behind 
the  veil  of  the  mystery  of  mysteries.  No  one  answered 
his  query.  An  answer  was  not  necessary,  for  over  his 
shoulder  the  white  line  of  the  surf  could  be  seen.  When 
they  got  near  the  Whistler  jumped  to  Turkey's  side,, 
seized  the  right  oar  and  gave  the  added  impetus  of  his 
lithe  young  arms  to  the  headway  of  the  boat.  The  water 
hardly  rippled  the  glorious  ribbon  of  moonlight  behind 
them  and  wind  and  tide  were  set  toward  shore.  Under 
these  favoring  circumstances  the  dory  was  carried  high 
and  dry  upon  the  sands. 

"Lift  him  out,"  cried  the  Whistler.  Shagarach's  body 
was  laid  upon  the  beach,  dripping  and  disheveled.  "You 
run  up  to  the  refectory,  Toot,  and  tell  the  cop  there  to 
bring  some  whisky.  Turn  him  over,  Turkey,  and  let  the 
water  run  out.  Now  slap  his  cheeks.  Slap  them  hard." 

"He's  breathing." 

"How  did  he  tumble  in,  I  wonder?  Gee,  didn't  he 
come  down  flopping?'' 


172  THE   INCENDIARY. 

"P'raps  he  was  loaded." 

"Lucky  he  didn't  hit  on  them  rocks  there." 

"He  would  if  the  tide  was  dead  low." 

Neither  the  Whistler  nor  Turkey  had  checked  their 
vigorous  efforts  to  resuscitate  the  limp  body.  Even  the 
catching  of  their  boat  on  a  high-crested  wave  did  not 
seduce  them  from  their  work. 

"I'll  swim  after  her,"  said  the  Whistler,  watching  the 
dory  drift  slowly  off  the  sands. 

Soon  Shagarach's  eyes  opened  and  his  lips  muttered 
indistinctly.  Presently  he  moved  his  arms.  How  cool 
the  air  was!  He  had  often  longed  to  lie  like  this  on  a 
soft,  white  sand,  and  let  the  shallow  water  play  over 
him,  while  he  pierced  with  his  gaze  the  deep  blue  sky. 
But  the  stars  were  above  him  now — not  pendulous 
tongues  of  flame  such  as  throbbed  in  the  oriental  heav- 
ens of  his  childhood,  but  the  smoldering  embers  of  the 
northern  night,  paling  in  the  moonlight.  And  whose 
were  those  two  strange  faces  thrust  darkly  over  the 
golden  disk? 

"Are  you  better,  mister?"  It  was  unmistakably  an 
earthly  tone,  the  voice  and  accent  of  the  city  gamin, 
but  warm  with  that  humaneness  of  heart  which  a  ragged 
jacket  shelters  as  often  as  a  velvet  one. 

"Take  my  coat,  mister.  You're  shivering,"  said  the 
Whistler,  suiting  action  to  word,  so  that  Shagarach 
found  himself  embraced  by  a  garment,  not  dry  by  any 
means,  but  more  grateful  than  the  soaked  apparel  which 
was  chilling  his  skin. 

"If  you  can  get  up,  mister,  and  run  around,  it'll  warm 
you.  Toot'll  be  here  soon  with  some  whisky." 

Shagarach  gathered  his  strength  to  rise,  but  the  effort 
was  fruitless. 

"How  did  I  come  here?"  he  gasped. 

"You  fell  over  the  bridge,  right  near  us.  We  were 
fishing  for  smelts  and  rowed  over  and  saved  you." 

"That  was  fortunate.  I  thank  you,"  murmured  Shaga- 
rach. 

"Can't  yer  swim?"  asked  Turkey  in  a  pitying  tone,  but 
Shagarach  was  preoccupied  with  his  recollections.  He 


THE    INCENDIARY.  173 

had  made  a  mistake  of  judgment.  He  should  have  de- 
clined the  rendezvous.  But  who  and  what  was  the 
assailant,  the  leering  oaf  he  had  passed  on  the  pier? 
Was  it  some  agent  of  the  Arnolds?  The  anonymous 
letters  pointed  to  that  source.  They  were  all  seamed 
with  allusions  to  the  trial  of  Robert  Floyd.  And  they 
formed  his  only  clew.  Stay,  the  hat  he  still  clutched 
in  his  hand.  He  raised  it  feebly — for  the  mental  energies 
of  the  lawyer  were  more  elastic  than  the  physical — and 
his  teeth  were  still  chattering  though  his  brain  was  clear. 
It  was  a  round,  rimless  cap  of  a  common  pattern. 

"Here  comes  Toot."  The  Whistler,  who  was  all  eyes, 
had  been  the  first  to  espy  him,  running  at  the  top  of  his 
speed.  Out  of  the  darkness  behind  him  loomed  the 
powerful  form  of  a  policeman. 

"The  cop's  comin',  fellers.    Here  he  is/'  cried  Toot. 

"Gimme  the  whisky,"  said  the  Whistler.  "Take  a 
swig,  mister.  It'll  warm  you  up." 

Shagarach  applied  his  lips  to  the  bottle  and  took  a 
sparing  draught. 

"Well,  how  is  the  gentleman?"  sang  out  the  policeman, 
cheerily. 

"He's  all  right  now,"  answered  the  Whistler,  a  strange 
uneasiness  coming  over  him. 

The  officer  stooped  down  to  the  man's  face. 

"Why,  Mr.  Shagarach "  Surprise  prevented  him 

from  saying  more  and  Shagarach  looked  up  at  hearing 
his  name. 

"You're  not  on  the  old  beat  now?"  he  said. 

"No,  I'm  on  the  park  force  till  I  get  strong  again. 
This  is  a  bad  accident.  Coming  round  all  right,  though, 
by  the  look  o'  things." 

"Yes,  give  me  a  hand  and  I'll  try  to  rise.'' 

Officer  Chandler's  great  hand  swung  Shagarach  on 
his  feet.  For  a  moment  his  knees  sunk.  Then  he  shook 
himself  like  a  draggled  dog.  The  liquor  was  working  its 
way  to  his  marrow  and  banishing  the  deep-seated  chill. 

"I  owe  my  life  to  these  boys,"  he  said. 

"Hello,  what  are  you  stripping  for?"  asked  the  officer, 
turning  around. 


174  THE    INCENDIARY. 

"My  dory,"  answered  the  Whistler.  He  had  already 
reduced  himself  to  the  minimum  of  wearing  apparel  and 
stood  ankle-deep  in  the  surf. 

The  dory  was  twenty  yards  out,  showing  a  dark 
broadside  against  the  moonlit  waves. 

"Oh,  all  right,"  laughed  Chandler.  "Give  me  your 
arm,  Mr.  Shagarach.  We'll  furnish  you  a  new  outfit 
at  the  refectory.  How  did  it  all  happen?" 

"One  moment,  till  the  boy  comes  back."  Shagarach 
knew  that  his  assailant  had  had  time  to  escape  and  that 
search  for  the  present  would  be  useless,  but  he  saw  no 
advantage  in  keeping  the  incident  to  himself.  So  he 
sketched  the  story  of  the  letters,  the  rendezvous  and  the 
struggle,  in  his  curt,  forcible  style. 

"Find  the  head  that  cap  fits  and  you'll  do  me  a  serv- 
ice," he  concluded,  showing  Chandler  the  headgear. 

"There  was  nobody  on  the  bridge?" 

"Nobody  but  the  oaf  I  described." 

"Wade  out,  Turkey,"  the  Whistler  was  calling  to  his 
barefoot  companions.  He  seemed  shy  of  putting  his 
boat  ashore.  Since  the  arrival  of  the  officer  all  three 
urchins  had  become  singularly  distant  and  distressed. 
Was  this  only  the  natural  awe  which  slum  children  feel 
in  the  presence  of  the  police?  Or  was  it  conscience  that 
made  cowards  of  them  all? 

"Come  ashore,  young  feller.  The  gentleman  wants  to 
thank  you,"  said  Chandler. 

"We  must  look  for  the  fishing-pole  under  the  pier," 
answered  the  Whistler.  It  was  true  that  he  had  thrown 
his  rod  away  when  they  heard  the  loud  splash  of  Shaga- 
rach's  body  in  the  water.  But  his  manner  indicated 
that  while  what  he  said  might  be  true,  it  was  not  the 
fact.  Turkey  and  Toot  also  had  shown  unseemly  haste 
in  wading  out  to  the  dory  with  the  Whistler's  outer 
raiment.  The  Whistler  was  digging  the  blade  in  for  his 
first  stroke  when  Shagarach  addressed  him  in  a  tone 
that  made  him  pause. 

"My  young  friends,  I  am  too  weak  to  thank  you 
to-night.  To-morrow  is  Saturday.  Could  you  call  at 


THE   INCENDIARY.  175 

my  office  in  the  morning,  31  Putnam  street?  Mr.  Shaga- 
rach.  Can  you  come?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  answered  the  boys,  with  more  submis- 
sion than  gladness  in  their  voices.  All  the  gamin's  impu- 
dence melts  at  a  touch  of  true  kindness.  The  boys 
waited  a  moment,  then  disappeared  into  the  night,  while 
Shagarach,  with  the  policeman's  assistance,  made  his  way 
through  the  gathering  crowd  to  the  refectory. 

It  was  the  misfortune  of  Jacob,  Shagarach's  office  boy, 
to  be  the  owner  of  a  most  preposterous  nose,  the  con- 
sciousness of  which  led  him  to  fear  society  and  shun 
the  mannerless  multitude.  Boys  of  his  own  age  in 
particular  he  dreaded,  as  a  tame  crow  is  said  to  fear 
nothing  so  much  as  a  wild  one.  So  when  our  three  mis- 
chiefmakers  entered  the  office  the  next  morning  and 
seated  themselves  till  Mr.  Shagarach  should  return,  the 
poor  lad  began  squirming  by  anticipation  in  his  chair  as 
if  its  seat  were  a  pin  cushion  with  the  points  of  the  pins 
protruding.  As  a  matter  of  defensive  tactics,  this  was 
the  worst  possible  attitude  to  take,  as  it  courted  assault. 
But  Jacob  was  not  a  strategist. 

Before  long  his  torture  began,  first  by  side  comments 
and  giggles,  suppressed  in  deference  to  the  decorum  of 
the  surroundings.  Then  he  was  subjected  to  a  running 
fire  of  personal  questions,  the  tone  of  which  speedily 
began  to  mimic  the  muffled  nasals  of  his  own  richly 
accented  responses.  This  would  have  been  acute  tor- 
ment to  a  sensitive  lad  and  a  spirited  one  would  have 
ended  the  comedy  by  an  appeal  to  arms.  But  poor 
Jacob  was  stolid  and  peaceable.  So  his  tormenters 
had  things  their  own  way.  The  Whistler  especially 
seemed  to  have  neither  conscience  nor  reason  in  his 
make-up,  but  an  enormous  funny-bone  which  usurped 
the  functions  of  both.  It  was  not  until  Aronson  came 
in  that  Jacob  was  able  to  mjrke  his  escape. 

Saul  Aronson  was  not  a  musical  young  man.  If  he 
yawned  down  the  major  chord  twice  or  thrice  at  bedtime 
this  was  the  nearest  he  ever  got  to  singing.  But  when 
the  Whistler  raised  his  flexible  pipe,  at  first  softly,  then 
loudly,  with  wonderful  trills,  breaking  into  still  more 


176  THE  INCENDIARY. 

wonderful  tremolos,  with  staccato  volleys,  and  ascending 
arpeggios  that  would  have  put  a  mocking-bird  to  shame, 
it  is  no  wonder  that  he  gave  up  the  attempt  to  insert  the 
metes  and  bounds  correctly  in  a  quit-claim  deed  and 
contented  himself  with  furtively  watching  the  o-shaped 
orifice  from  which  this  flood  of  melody  issued.  This 
was  his  occupation  when  Shagarach's  form,  crossing  the 
threshold,  sent  him  back  to  his  copying  and  checked 
the  Whistler  in  the  full  ecstasy  of  an  improvised  cadenza. 

"You  have  saved  my  life,"  said  Shagarach  to  the  boys 
when  they  had  followed  him  into  the  inner  room.  He 
used  the  plural  number,  but  his  gaze  seemed  to  be  at- 
tracted to  the  Whistler,  whose  neatly  brushed  hair  told 
of  a  mother's  hand,  and  whose  restless  blue  eyes,  fringed 
with  heavy  dark  lashes,  centered  a  face  oval,  high-born 
and  sweet,  which  gave  out  in  every  contour  the  glad 
emanation  of  a  youth  which  was  natural  and  pure.  There 
was  less  in  the  others  to  make  them  distinctive.  Turkey 
seemed  to  be  a  hulking  clod  and  Toot  was  wizened 
and  shrill-voiced  and  sharp. 

"You  have  saved  my  life.    How  can  I  repay  you?" 

"I  don't  want  any  pay,"  spoke  up  Whistler.  "I  on'y 
came  here  to  tell  you  about  the  fire." 

"What  fire?" 

"Turkey  said  you  was  defending  the  bloke  that  set 
fire  to  the  house  on  Cazenove  street." 

"Do  you  know  something  about  that?" 

"We  seen  a  bio — a  man  coming  out  of  the  house," 
answered  the  Whistler. 

"Then  you  come  to  make  me  still  more  obliged  to 
you.  But  you  must  let  me  discharge  a  part  of  my  other 
debt  first  I  have  just  come  from  the  bank.  Here  are 
fifteen  double  eagles.  You  will  each  give  me  your 
mother's  name  and  address  and  I  will  send  her  five." 

Turkey  and  Toot  showed  no  reluctance  in  doing  this, 
but  the  Whistler  still  held  back. 

"My  mother  doesn't  want  any  reward,"  he  said.  All 
three  of  the  boys  had  just  graduated  from  the  Phillips 
grammar  school,  and  could  place  their  negatives  cor- 
rectly when  they  chose. 


THE  INCENDIARY.  177 

"This  is  not  a  reward.  I  only  ask  you  to  allow  me  to 
be  your  friend.  At  your  age  I  had  never  seen  this 
amount  of  money." 

But  still  the  Whistler  blushed  and  shook  his  head  till 
Shagarach  perceived  the  boy's  principle  could  not  be 
shaken. 

"You  will  give  me  your  mother's  address?  Perhaps 
I  may  be  able  to  get  you  work.  Wouldn't  you  like  to 
go  to  work?" 

"Oh,  yes,  sir."  The  Whistler's  face,  which  obstinate 
refusal,  even  for  so  honorable  a  scruple,  had  clouded 
with  a  trace  of  sullenness,  brightened  at  once  and  his 
blue  eyes  smiled.  Shagarach  copied  the  address  care- 
fully and  determined  not  to  lose  sight  of  the  boy  who 
knew  how  to  say  no  so  decidedly. 

"And  now "  he  pushed  the  memorandum  book 

aside.  "I  am  defending  Floyd.  What  did  you  wish  to 
tell  me?" 

"We  was  the  first  at  the  fire,"  said  Toot,  eagerly. 

"And  we  found  the  body  of  the  servant,"  added 
Turkey. 

But  Shagarach's  eyes  never  left  the  Whistler. 

"Just  when  the  fire  broke  out,"  said  the  Whistler,  "we 
were  coming  through  the  alleyway  side  of  the  house." 

"Yes." 

"A  big  bloke — I  mean  a  tall  man — was  running  down 
the  alleyway  into  Broad  street.  I  noticed  him,  because 
the  alley  was  narrow  and  he  knocked  me  down." 

"Where?" 

"In  the  alleyway." 

"Near  Broad  streec?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Ran  against  you  and  knocked  you  down?'' 

"Yes,  sir,  and  said:  'Darn  it,  get  out  of  the  way/  " 

"Was  he  running?" 

"Well,  half-running." 

"We  was  running,"  added  Toot;  "'cause  we  heard 
them  yelling  'Fire!'" 

"What  kind  of  a  looking  man  was  it?" 

"A  big,  brown  man,  with  a  black  mustache." 


178  THE    INCENDIARY. 

"He  looked  like  a  dood/'  added  Toot. 

"You  didn't  know  him?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Would  you  know  him  again?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  answered  the  Whistler.  "I  seen — I  saw 
him  last  week  pulling  a  single  scull  up  the  river." 

Shagarach  remembered  having  seen  a  portrait  of 
Harry  Arnold  displayed  in  a  fashionable  photographer's 
showcase — shaggy  cape-coat  and  fur  cap  setting  off  his 
splendid  beauty.  Immediately  he  wrote  the  address  on 
a  card,  and,  summoning  Aronson,  bade  him  obtain  a 
half-dozen  copies  of  the  photograph. 

"He  was  a  handsome  young  man,  then?  About  how 
old?" 

The  three  guesses  varied  from  21  to  27.  Either  of 
these  ages  seems  fabulously  advanced  from  the  stand- 
point of  14. 

"Did  you  notice  anything  about  his  hands?  Were 
they  bare  or  did  he  wear  gloves?" 

"His  right  hand  was  bare,"  answered  the  Whistler, 
"'cause  his  fingernail  scratched  me  when  he  thrun  me 
— when  he  threw  me  down." 

Shagarach  drew  forth  the  glove  which  Chandler  had 
brought  him  and  was  studying  it  profoundly.  Appar- 
ently he  forgot  the  presence  of  the  boys,  so  deep  was 
his  meditation.  Then  at  last  he  started  out  of  the  rev- 
erie, thanked  them  again  and  with  kind  assurances  of 
friendship  shook  their  hands  in  parting  at  the  door. 

"Ain't  he  a  dandy  bloke?"  whispered  Turkey  on  the 
stairs. 

"Why  didn't  yer  take  it,  Whistler?"  said  Toot. 

But  the  Whistler  held  his  peace. 


THE  INCENDIARY.  179 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

DEATHBED    REVELATIONS. 

When  Emily  Barlow  ran  down  to  Shagarach's  office 
at  noon  this  Saturday  she  was  accompanied  by  her 
friend,  Beulah  Ware.  Betilah  Ware  was  as  dark  as 
Emily  was  fair.  In  temperament,  as  in  complexion,  the 
two  girls  offered  a  contrast,  Beulah's  carriage  having 
the  recollected  dignity  of  a  nun's,  while  Emily's  sensi- 
bilities were  all  as  fine  as  those  Japanese  swords  which 
are  whetted  so  keenly  they  divide  the  light  leaves  that 
fall  across  their  edges. 

"We  should  like  to  leave  a  note  with  the  flowers,  Mr. 
Aronson.  Could  you  furnish  us  paper?" 

Aronson  was  only  too  eager  to  furnish  not  only  paper, 
but  envelope,  ink-well  and  a  ready-filled  pen.  When 
the  young  ladies  went  out  he  thought  a  cloud  passed  over 
the  arid  chapters  of  his  Pickering  XII.  This  was  the 
note,  pinned  to  a  graceful  bouquet,  that  Shagarach 
read  on  his  return: 

"My  Dear  Mr.  Shagarach:  You  must  have  read  of  the  riot 
yesterday  in  which  Robert  behaved  so  nobly.  But  he  is  even 
more  pleased  with  a  discovery  which  he  made  during  the  affair. 
It  seems  that  one  of  the  wounded  convicts,  who  has  been  pass- 
ing under  the  name  of  Quirk,  is  no  other  than  the  coachman, 
Mungovan,  whom  none  of  us  could  find.  Could  you  manage  to 
call  at  the  prison  to-day?  The  poor  fellow  is  seriously  injured 
and  may  have  important  evidence  in  his  possession.  Yours 
truly,  "EMILY  BARLOW." 

The  violets  seemed  to  move  Shagarach  far  more  than 
the  note,  momentous  as  its  revelation  might  be.  His 
hand  trembled  when  he  reached  to  clasp  the  stems.  Then 
he  withdrew  it  and  stood  irresolute.  A  procession  was 
passing  through  the  street  below.  From  the  window 


180  THE   INCENDIARY. 

he  could  see  the  tilted  necks  of  a  line  of  fifers.  Was  it  a 
horror  of  music  that  made  him  shut  out  these  sounds 
so  often?  A  dread  of  perfume  and  loveliness  that  made 
him  leave  the  room  at  once  with  brief  directions  to  Aron- 
son?  The  casual  observer  would  have  said  that  he 
merely  hurried  to  obey  the  suggestion  of  Emily's  note, 
for  he  took  his  way  at  once  to  the  state  prison  across 
the  river. 

When  Col.  Mainwaring  took  hold  of  the  prison  that 
morning  it  was  expected  that  two  out  of  every  five  of 
the  convicts  would  have  to  be  bastinadoed  before  peace 
could  be  restored.  Against  the  advice  of  all  the  deputies, 
including  Hawkins,  he  had  summoned  his  wards  to  the 
rotunda  and  outlined  his  course  of  action  in  a  cool 
speech.  The  burden  of  it  was  that  he  intended  to  begin 
with  a  clean  sheet  and  to  look  out  for  their  interests 
rather  than  their  sensibilities,  or,  as  he  expressed  it, 
"to  give  them  hard  words  but  soft  mattresses." 

The  matter  and  manner  of  the  address  had  a  tranquil- 
lizing effect  and  some  of  the  shops  that  day  wore  as 
quiet  and  decent  an  aspect  as  any  factory-room  in  the 
state.  Moreover,  as  soon  as  it  became  known  that  the 
colonel  had  resolved  to  adopt  several  of  the  reforms 
demanded  in  Dickon  Harvey's  petition,  even  the  mood- 
iest of  the  ring-leaders  felt  that  they  could  submit  with- 
out any  hurt  to  pride. 

Stretched  on  a  hospital  cot,  whispering  with  contrite 
eyes  to  a  black-robed  clergyman,  lay  Dennis  Mungovan. 
The  look  on  his  face  was  peaceful  and  exalted.  His 
hands  were  clasped.  The  groans  of  patients  and  the 
odor  of  drugs  which  filled  the  chamber  did  not  reach 
his  senses.  He  had  just  finished  his  deathbed  confes- 
sion and  stood  upon  a  secure  footing  on  the  terra  firma 
of  faith,  awaiting  the  summons  from  above. 

"A  lawyer  to  speak  with  Quirk,"  announced  the  at- 
tendant. 

"Not  Quirk,  but  Mungovan,"  said  the  clergyman, 
making  way. 

"And  must  you  lave  me,  father  dear?"  besought  the 


THE  INCENDIARY.  181 

patient,  stretching  out  his  hands  as  a  cold  man  in  win- 
ter reaches  toward  the  fire. 

"I  have  a  wedding  to  perform,  my  son.  Remember, 
your  hours  in  this  valley  of  tears  are  few,  and  you  have 
left  everything  worldly  behind  you.  Thank  God,  who 
in  His  infinite  mercy  has  given  you  the  grace  of  a  happy 
death." 

"I  do,  father,  I  do,"  cried  the  pallid  sufferer. 

"And  an  opportunity  to  repent  of  your  sins.  God 
bless  you.  Good-by." 

The  clergyman  bowed  to  Shagarach  and  departed — 
from  the  deathbed  to  the  wedding  service,  from  the 
grave  to  the  cradle  of  life,  so  wide  was  the  compass  of  his 
ministrations. 

"You  are  dying,  then?''  asked  Shagarach. 

"Wid  a  bullet  in  me  breast,  misthur,  that  the  doc- 
tors can't  rache.  Och,  they  murdhered  me  wid  their 
probin'.  And  all  for  what?  All  for  nawthin'.  What 
was  I  to  be  mixin'  in  their  riots  for?  Wirrasthrue!  Wir- 
rasthrue !" 

"You  know  Robert  Floyd  is  in  the  prison  here?" 

"Robert  Floyd!  For  the  love  o'  heaven,  misthur,  don't 
tell  him  it's  me.  Tell  him  I'm  Quirk.  Och,  that  lie  is 
a  sin  on  me  sowl." 

"The  truth  will  be  best  when  you  are  so  near  death," 
said  Shagarach,  quietly.  "Perhaps  it  would  be  better  at 
all  times.  Besides,  Mr.  Floyd  knows  you  are  here." 

"Misther,"  the  dying  man  drew  Shagarach  toward 
him.  "Misther!  Do  me  a  favor  for  the  love  o'  doin' 
good." 

"What  is  it?" 

"Will  you  do  it — an'  I'll  pray  for  your  sowl  before 
the  throne,  so  help  me " 

"I  will  if  I  can.    What  is  it?" 

"Keep  it  from  Ellen." 

"Keep  what?" 

"My  name,  my  disgrace.  Never  let  the  poor  girl 
know.  She  was  my  wife.'' 

"Your  wife?"  Shagarach  was  puzzled  a  moment. 
"You  mean  Ellen  Greeley?" 


182  THE    INCENDIARY. 

"Ellen  Mungovan,  before  God." 

"Ellen  Greeley  is  dead.    She  perished  in  the  fire." 

The  man  started  up  in  his  bed  so  violently  as  to  burst 
the  bandage  of  his  wound.  His  blood  began  to  stain 
the  linen  and  Shagarach  was  obliged  to  call  an  attendant, 
who  adjusted  it  and  tucked  the  patient  snugly  in.  Still 
his  glassy  eyes  were  fixed  on  Shagarach  and  his  mutter- 
ing lips  seemed  to  say  over  the  word:  "Dead!  Dead! 
Dead!" 

"She  was  burned  to  death  in  the  Arnold  fire.  Robert 
Floyd  is  accused  of  setting  it  and  causing  her  death." 

"Burned  to  death!"  The  man's  brain  seemed  bewil- 
dered. 

"Didn't  you  know  these  things?" 

"Shure,  how  would  I  know  them,  misther,  all  cooped 
in  here  like  a  bat  in  a  cave?" 

"How  did  you  come  here?" 

"Och,  the  foolishness  came  over  me,  wid  my  head 
tangled  in  dhrink.  What  does  a  man  know  in  dhrink? 
He  can't  tell  his  friend  from  his  inimy.  And  me  that 
had  a  dacent  mother  in  the  ould  counthry  and  a  dacent 
wife  in  the  new,  look  at  this,  where  it  druv  me." 

"What  crime  are  you  charged  with?" 

"Wid  breakin'  and  enterin',  misther;  and,  sure,  it  was 
the  stableman  put  me  up  to  it  that  night  I  was  full,  and 
they  got  away  and  I  was  caught  wid  the  watches  on  me 
and  I  was  so  shamed  of  Ellen  and  me  mother  at  home, 
says  I,  I'll  niver  disgrace  them,  says.  I,  and  so  I  gev  in 
me  name  Quirk,  and  none  of  them  could  tell  the  differ." 

"When  was  it  you  were  arrested?"  asked  Shagarach. 

"It's  three  weeks  and  three  days  yesterday,  misther; 
that  I  know  by  the  scratches  I  made  in  me  cell." 

"Can't  you  read?" 

"Only  the  big,  black  letthers,  misther." 

This  explained  Mtingovan's  ignorance  of  Floyd's  ar- 
rest. It  seemed  to  be  an  accident  that  the  two  had  never 
met  in  prison.  Though  they  occupied  cells  in  the  same 
ward,  their  daily  work  carried  them  to  opposite  parts  of 
the  yard,  Mungovan's  to  the  hairness-shop  under  "Slim" 
Butler;  Robert's  to  the  greenhouses  near  the  team  gate. 


THE    INCENDIARY.  183 

"Misther!"  The  poor  wretch  clasped  Shagarach's 
wrist  and  drew  the  lawyer's  ear  to  his  lips  again. 

"Misther,  will  you  bury  me  where  Ellen  is  buried?" 

"I'll  see  if  that  can  be  done.'' 

"Misther!"  The  man's  eyes  were  glazing.  "Look!" 
He  fumbled  with  aspen  fingers  in  his  breast,  finally  draw- 
ing forth  an  envelope.  From  this  he  removed  a  ringlet 
of  black  hair,  probably  a  love-lock  of  Ellen's.  Then  he 
showed  the  inclosed  writing  to  Shagarach.  It  was  not 
addressed. 

•'Read  it,"  he  whispered.    "Ellen  gev  it  me  to  carry.'' 

Shagarach  opened  the  envelope  and  read  in  a  servant- 
girl's  painstaking  hand  the  following  words: 

"The  peddler  has  not  come  for  two  days,  so  I  send  you  this 
by  a  trustworthy  messanger.  As  I  rote  you  in  my  last,  the 
professor  said  in  the  study,  'Harry  gets  his  deserts.'  That  was 
all  I  could  hear  only  he  and  Mr.  Robert  talked  for  a  long  time 
afterwards.  The  will  is  in  the  safe  in  the  study.  If  I  hear 
ennything  more  I  will  let  you  know,  and  please  send  me  the 
money  you  promised  me  soon." 

There  was  neither  address  nor  signature  to  this  docu- 
ment. 

"To  carry  where?"  asked  Shagarach,  but  the  man's 
brain  was  all  clotted  with  a  single  idea. 

"Will  you  bury  me  by  Ellen's  side,  misther,  in  the 
green  churchyard  under  the  soft  turf  that  the  wind  combs 
smooth  like  in  my  own  dear  counthry?  Will  you  bury 
me  beside  Ellen  I  disgraced  so,  misther?  She'll  know 
I'm  wid  her  there.  Will  you  bury  me,  misther?" 

"I  will.  I  will.  Where  did  Ellen  bid  you  carry  the 
letter?" 

"The  letther?  Och,  I  carried  the  letther  in  me  mouth. 
Sure,  I  wouldn't  be  afther  givin'  up  Ellen's  letther  to 
the  warden." 

"I  mean "  But  the  man  was  passing  through  the 

delirium  that  precedes  the  last  fainting  calm.  Several 
times  his  lips  moved,  murmuring  "Ellen."  His  fingers 
clutched  the  love-lock  to  his  breast.  Once  he  turned 
his  head  and  asked  for  "Father  Flynn."  But  Father 


184  THE   INCENDIARY. 

Flynn  was  ministering  now  at  another  ceremony  as 
opposite  to  this  as  laughter  is  to  tears. 

Toward  the  end  a  smile  of  singular  sweetness  irra- 
diated his  rough  face,  made  delicate  by  the  waxy  color  of 
death.  Were  his  thoughts  playing  back  again  among  the 
memories  of  childhood,  in  the  beloved  island,  perhaps 
at  the  knee  of  that  honest  mother  whom  he  feared  to 
disgrace?  Or  were  they  leaping  forward  to  the  joy  of 
the  cool  bed  under  the  churchyard  daisies  at  Ellen's 
side?  Shagarach,  holding  the  shred  of  paper  in  his  hand, 
brooding  over  the  answer  to  his  unanswered  question, 
could  only  watch  the  flickering  spark  in  reverential  awe. 

But  he  did  not  default  his  side  of  the  pact  they  had 
made,  he  and  Dennis  Mungovan,  with  clasped  hands  in 
the  hospital  alcove.  At  a  great  sacrifice  of  time  he 
sought  out  Ellen  Greeley's  sister,  explained  the  secret 
of  Ellen's  marriage  and  Mungovan's  repentance  for  his 
follies,  and,  with  the  help  of  Father  Flynn,  persuaded 
her  to  consent  to  an  interment  of  the  couple  together. 
He  even  went  to  the  pains  of  communicating  the  death 
to  Mungovan's  worthy  mother,  having  obtained  her  ad- 
dress from  Ellen  Greeley's  sister  and  heir.  But  the  cir- 
cumstances and  place  of  the  "accident"  which  killed 
him  were  humanely  concealed. 

In  return  for  all  this  solicitude  the  lawyer  had  an  un- 
addressed  and  ambiguous  scrawl  in  his  possession. 
Three  facts  were  established  in  relation  to  the  person  for 
whom  it  was  intended.  In  the  first  place  whoever  it  was 
he  knew  that  Harry  Arnold  had  "got  his  deserts"  under 
his  uncle's  will.  Secondly,  he  had  employed  Ellen  Gree- 
ley  as  a  spy  upon  the  doings  in  the  professor's  house- 
hold. Thirdly,  he  was  in  league  with  the  missing  ped- 
dler, who  seemed  to  act  as  a  go-between  for  Ellen  and 
her  correspondent. 


THE  INCENDIARY.  185 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE   NEST-EGG  HATCHES  OUT. 

"St!  Bobbs!" 

The  sound  was  at  Robert's  left  ear.  He  had  been 
dreaming  of  Emily  arrayed  in  bridal  white  and  kneeling 
at  his  side  before  the  altar  of  joy.  Uncle  Benjamin  in 
a  clergyman's  surplice  was  pronouncing  a  benediction 
upon  them.  The  good  old  custom  of  a  nuptial  kiss  was 
about  to  be  observed,  when  the  warning  whisper  and  his 
prison  nickname  rudely  awakened  him  to  his  surround- 
ings. The  sweet  vision  melted  into  a  black  reality,  the 
wide  arches  of  the  cathedral  contracting  to  narrow  cell 
walls  and  the  loved  faces  of  Emily  and  his  uncle  cruelly 
vanishing. 

"Bobbs!    Do  you 'ear?" 

"Yes!"  Robert  rubbed  his  eyes  as  if  to  restore  the 
illusion  and  his  answer  was  slumbrously  indistinct. 

"Count  that  bell." 

A  distant  clock  was  giving  out  two  strokes  faintly  but 
with  vibrations  prolonged  in  the  silence. 

"  'Ear  the  hother  coves  snoozing." 

The  deep  breathing  of  the  convicts  grew  more  and 
more  audible  as  Robert's  senses  became  sharper  and  he 
sat  up  on  his  couch. 

"Hi  'ear  you,  Bobbs.  Hare  you  making  your  toilet?" 
inquired  the  facetious  cracksman. 

"Yes." 

"Leave  your  bloomin'  boots  be'ind  as  a  keepsake. 
We  haren't  pussy-footed,  me  hangel." 

"All  right,  I'm  ready." 

"Now,  take  out  the  blocks,  me  boy,  and  'andle  with 
care.  If  they  falls  on  your  toes  they  might  'urt,  besides 
disturbin'  the  bloomin'  deputy,  which  we  must  be  werry 


186  THE  INCENDIARY. 

careful  to  havoid,  Bobbs,  out  of  consideration  for  'is 
feelings.  Sh!" 

A  footstep  was  heard  coming  along  the  corridor,  and 
the  re-enforcement  of  light  told  the  prisoners  that  the 
turnkey  had  a  lantern  in  his  hand,  the  dim  gas  jet  at 
one  end  only  sufficing  to  deepen  the  shadows  in  the 
cells.  Robert  lay  back  on  his  -pallet  and  closed  his 
eyes  till  the  steps  retreated.  In  a  half-minute  the  turn- 
key would  be  back.  He  was  a  new  man,  both  Gradger 
and  Hawkins  being  still  on  the  sick  list  from  the  blows 
they  had  received  in  the  riot  of  the  day  before. 

"St,  Bobbs,  hare  you  ready?" 

"All  ready." 

Robert  had  removed  six  bricks  and  carefully  muffled 
them  in  his  bedquilt,  leaving  an  aperture  not  much  larger 
than  the  door  of  a  kennel.  The  light  came  nearer  and 
nearer  and  suddenly  he  heard  the  cracksman  groaning 
piteously.  The  turnkey  raised  his  lantern,  approached 
the  cell  from  which  these  sounds  issued  and  peered  in. 

"Somebody  bludgeoned  yesterday,"  thought  he.  But 
"somebody"  was  standing  at  the  front  of  his  cell,  with 
his  hands  firmly  grasping  two  bars.  As  the  turnkey 
stooped  and  brought  his  eyes  nearer,  the  two  bars  were 
wrenched  out  and  clasped  around  his  neck.  Being  a 
sturdy  fellow,  his  instinct  was  to  struggle  rather  than 
to  cry.  But  his  struggle  availed  him  nothing  in  the  sur- 
prise of  the  moment,  with  the  odds  of  position  against 
him.  His  head  was  drawn  down  through  the  bars  and 
he  nuzzled  a  soft  substance  on  the  cracksman's  breast. 
Then  a  strange  odor  got  possession  of  his  senses.  He 
gasped,  fought,  gasped  again,  and  finally  fainted  away. 
When  his  writhings  had  ceased  the  cracksman  removed 
his  lantern  and  laid  it  lightly  on  the  floor  outside. 

"Climb  through,  Bobbs — not  that  way." 

Robert  had  stood  on  the  bed  and  thrust  one  leg 
through  the  aperture. 

"Head  foremost,  as  the  little  feller  dives." 

Robert  reversed  his  position,  and  with  a  terrible 
wrenching  of  his  shoulders  worked  the  upper  part  of  his 
body  through  the  opening,  Dobbs  giving  him  loyal  as- 


THE   INCENDIARY.  187 

sistance  and  encouragement  meanwhile.  The  turnkey 
hanging  helpless  into  the  cracksman's  cell,  his  body  out- 
lined against  the  lantern,  caused  him  to  start  back. 

"Ee's  hall  right.  Hi  nursed  'im  asleep  on  my  breast- 
pin. Hain't  it  daintily  perfumed?" 

Attached  to  the  cracksman's  breast  was  a  large  sponge 
saturated  with  chloroform.  The  turnkey  had  inhaled 
this  and  was  soundly  asleep. 

"Now  for  running  the  gantlet,  Bobbs." 

Dobbs'  motions  were  lightning-like.  First  he  laid 
the  turnkey  softly  outside,  then  climbed  through  the  cell- 
bars,  this  time  feet  foremost,  for  the  cuts  had  been  made 
nearly  two  feet  apart  vertically  and  the  bars  were  not 
set  close  together.  Once  outside,  he  motioned  to  Robert 
to  follow  him,  while  he  detached  the  prostrate  man's 
keys  from  his  girdle,  dabbing  his  nose  now  and  then  with 
the  sponge.  Squeezing  them  tightly  so  as  to  avoid 
clanking,  he  coolly  selected  one  of  the  largest. 

"That  comes  of  watching  Longlegs  w'en  the  others 
were  'ollering,"  he  whispered  to  Robert,  holding  up  his 
prize.  It  was  the  key  to  the  door  at  the  blind  end  of 
the  corridor,  which  a  turnkey  passing  through  with  the 
intention  of  going  out  into  the  yard  would  naturally 
select  from  his  bunch  and  carry  separate.  Hawkins' 
habit  of  swinging  his  keys  nonchalantly  had  not  escaped 
Dobbs'  observant  eyes. 

"Now,"  whispered  Dobbs,  making  for  the  blind  end 
of  the  corridor.  There  was  no  time  to  remove  the  lan- 
tern and  the  chloroformed  turnkey  from  sight.  Most 
of  the  convicts  were  still  asleep,  but  two  or  three,  awak- 
ened by  the  noises,  started  up  in  their  night  clothes  and 
stood  behind  the  bars,  making  gestures  but  uttering  no 
sound. 

Thus  far  Dobbs'  plan  had  proved  successful.  There 
was  no  other  outlet  than  the  one  he  had  chosen,  since 
the  cells  were  backed  against  the  middle  of  the  bastile 
and  were  impregnable  at  the  rear.  There  remained  two 
strong  doors  in  the  opposite  wall  to  force.  One  turn  of 
the  key  in  its  wards  slipped  the  lock  of  the  first. 
Before  the  second  Dcbbs  waited  and  listened.  A  rhvthm 


188  THE    INCENDIARY. 

of  receding  footsteps  was  heard  outside.  Suddenly  they 
seemed  to  cease. 

"He's  turned  the  corner,"  whispered  the  cracksman, 
immediately  opening  the  outer  door. 

"Pull  the  inside  one  to,  me  boy." 

Robert  did  as  he  commanded. 

"Out  with  you  now." 

Robert  preceded  his  confederate  into  the  deserted 
yard,  while  Dobbs  closed  the  great  outer  gate  softly  and 
sprung  its  iron  bolt.  Pursuit  from  within  was  thus  cut 
off. 

"Now  run,  me  boy." 

Robert  followed,  easily  keeping  up  with  his  leader. 
As  they  approached  the  end  of  the  bastile,  Dobbs  slowed 
his  pace. 

"Tiptoes,  now,"  he  cried  stealthily  working  his  way 
up  to  the  corner  of  the  building,  where  he  stood  crouch- 
ing as  if  in  ambush.  Their  shadows  were  thrown  for- 
ward beyond  the  corner,  so  that  the  cracksman  could 
not  get  within  a  yard  of  the  edge. 

"The  hother  cove  Hi  greased,  but  this  one  we'll  'ave  to 
sponge,  Bobbs,"  he  said,  taking  the  sponge  from  his 
breast  and  sprinkling  it  anew  from  a  tiny  vial. 

"  'Ere  ee  comes  a-waggin'  of  'is  'ead,  but  this  at  'is  beak 
will  set  'im  snoozin',  Hi  fawncy." 

The  footsteps  came  nearer  and  nearer,  as  monoton- 
ously regular  as  the  ticking  of  a  clock,  but  slow  and 
heavy,  as  if  the  sentinel  were  a  man  of  size.  Dobbs  stood 
ready  to  spring,  the  sponge  in  his  right  hand,  his  left  free 
to  disarm  the  deputy  if  he  should  present  his  gun.  The 
form  of  a  man  turned  the  angle.  It  was  Koerber,  the 
giant,  whom  Col.  Mainwaring  had  transferred  from  the 
caneshop  to  this  less  responsible  duty. 

Luckily  Dobbs  caught  him  in  the  midst  of  a  capacious 
gape,  and  the  great  sponge  stuffed  into  his  open  mouth 
served  at  once  as  gag  and  smothering  instrument. 

"  'Old  'is  harm,"  cried  Dobbs  to  Robert,  who  leaped  to 
his  side  and  held  down  the  powerful  right  arm  of  the  Ger- 
man Titan.  Koerber  kicked  and  fought  with  despera- 
tion, bruising  each  of  his  assailants,  but  the  sponge 


THE    INCENDIARY.  189 

muffled  his  outcries  and  gradually  he  sunk  in  a  stupor, 
Dobbs,  with  a  strength  no  one  would  have  suspected, 
breaking  the  fall  of  his  body  and  laying  him  gently  on 
the  ground. 

Another  long  application  of  the  sponge  and  again  he 
sped  away.  Koerber's  beat  stopped  at  the  middle  of  the 
end-section  of  the  yard,  where  he  and  the  other  sentinel 
must  have  met  and  saluted.  But  no  one  had  come  to  his 
aid,  and  when  the  two  fugitives  crossed  the  "left  yard,"  as 
it  was  called,  making  directly  for  the  wall,  no  one  im- 
peded their  progress.  Eighty  yards  away,  near  the 
greenhouses,  the  back  of  a  deputy  could  be  seen  march- 
ing in  the  opposite  direction.  Was  this  the  man  whom 
Dobbs  had  "greased?" 

The  cracksman  had  made  a  bee-line  for  the  twenty- 
foot  wall.  How  did  he  hope  to  surmount  such  a  barrier? 
It  was  as  smooth  as  a  planed  board,  with  hardly  crevice 
enough  at  the  cemented  seams  to  give  a  cat's  claw  foot- 
ing. 

"  'Ere's  a  hinstrument  of  my  hown  inventing  which  I 
call  the  'andy  'inge,"  said  Dobbs,  removing  from  his 
bosom  an  iron  thing  coiled  around  with  rope.  Unreel- 
ing the  rope  with  lightning  twists,  he  displayed  for  a  sec- 
ond a  plain,  strong  hinge,  very  broadplated  and  sharp  at 
the  inner  angle.  With  a  cast  that  no  professional  angler 
could  excel,  he  flung  this  far  over  the  top  of  the  wall,  and 
drew  it  taut,  by  means  of  the  rope.  The  edges  of  the  wall 
being  drilled  off  perfectly  square,  the  hinge  must  have 
caught  on  the  other  side,  and  the  security  of  the  appara- 
tus as  a  means  of  ascent  was  only  limited  by  the  strength 
of  the  rope.  The  device  was  as  simple,  yet  as  ingenious, 
as  the  clock-face. 

"Climb,  me  boy,"  said  Dobbs. 

Robert  was  up  in  a  few  seconds,  the  rope  being  thick 
enough  to  give  his  hands  good  purchase,  and  the  cool 
night  air  and  exhilaration  buoying  his  strength.  Dobbs 
climbed  with  more  difficulty  and  was  puffing  heavily 
when,  with  Robert's  help,  he  reached  the  broad  top  of  the 
wall. 


190  THE   INCENDIARY. 

"Hi'll  'ave  you  gazetted  hensign  in  the  royal  navy, 
Bobbs,  next  time  Hi  confab  with  'er  royal  'ighness,"  he 
smiled,  his  humor  never  appearing  to  desert  him.  "Such 
climbing  would  do  credit  to  a  powder  monkey." 

Just  then,  with  the  two  figures  standing  on  the  top  of 
the  wall,  a  loud  clang  smote  the  silent  air.  It  was  fol- 
lowed by  another  and  another  till  the  world  seemed 
awake  once  more. 

"The  alarm  bell!"  cried  Dobbs.  "They're  after  us! 
Drop!" 

Both  men  were  on  the  ground  in  a  second,  Dobbs  coil- 
ing his  "handy  hinge"  as  he  led  the  way  running.  Fear 
lent  him  wings  and  though  he  panted  and  his  voice  grew 
husky,  he  managed  to  keep  abreast  of  his  fleeter  com- 
panion. The  prison  wall  skirted  a  long,  ill-lighted  alley, 
which  debouched  in  an  unfrequented  street.  Here  the 
houses  were  scattered,  barren  lots  intervening,  and  a 
glimpse  of  the  river  breaking  into  the  background  now 
and  then.  It  was  broad  moonlight,  and  the  trees  and 
fences  afforded  little  shelter  to  the  runaways. 

Any  policeman  who  met  them  would  have  been  justi- 
fied in  shooting  down  two  men,  one  in  convict  garb,  flee- 
ing from  the  direction  of  the  prison.  Doubtless  Dobbs 
had  prepared  himself  for  this  emergency,  but  luck  fa- 
vored him  here  and  his  reserve  resources  were  not  called 
into  play.  To  left  and  right  and  left  again  he  turned, 
finally  climbing  a  lowr  fence  and  crossing  a  stableyard 
that  bordered  on  the  river.  A  second  fence  to  climb  and 
Robert  found  himself  on  the  rocky  embankment  of  the 
stream. 

How  dark  and  beautiful  it  was  in  the  moonlight !  "Free, 
and  I  know  not  another  as  infinite  word" — the  line  of  the 
poet  came  back  to  him,  and  for  an  instant  he  felt  in  his 
veins  all  the  glory  of  that  treasure  for  which  nations  have 
thought  rivers  of  their  purest  blood  no  extravagant  pric^. 
But  there  was  little  leisure  now  for  meditation.  The 
alarm  bell  could  still  be  heard  sounding  distinctly  at  the 
distance  of  a  quarter  of  a  mile  and  Dobbs  was  peering 


THE   INCENDIARY.  191 

down  the  embankment,  which  cast  an  inky  pall  over  the 
water  in  its  shadow. 

Presently  he  whistled.  An  answer  came,  some  fifty 
yards  to  the  right.  Clutching  his  comrade's  arm,  the 
Englishman  ran  along  the  bank  to  the  spot  from  which 
the  response  proceeded.  A  light  keel-boat  with  a  single 
occupant  was  moored  in  the  gloom  below,  but  so  far 
below  that  to  jump  would  surely  capsize  her,  for  the  tide 
was  at  its  ebb  and  the  stream  had  sunk  like  an  emptying 
canal  lock. 

"Shall  we  plunge  in?"  asked  Robert,  not  averse  to  the 
bracing  midnight  bath. 

"  'Ardly,  with  a  four-mile  row  in  wet  clothes  before  us, 
me  hangel,"  answered  the  cracksman,  "and  the  'andy 
'inge  still  lovingly  clasped  to  my  bosom." 

Scooping  out  some  earth  at  the  rim  of  the  flags  which 
crowned  the  embankment  wall,  he  made  a  hollow  for  the 
hinge  and  threw  the  rope  down  into  the  boat.  The  cor- 
ner to  which  it  clung  had  not  been  chiseled  off  clean  like 
the  edge  of  the  prison  wall  and  there  was  some  chance 
of  its  slipping,  but  the  risk  had  to  be  run. 

This  time  Dobbs  descended  first.  Robert  followed 
him  nimbly.  All  through  the  adventure  he  had  reflected 
and  even  echoed  the  cracksman's  humorous  mood,  and 
had  displayed  as  little  nervousness  as  if  it  were  a  stu- 
dent's lark  upon  which  he  was  engaged  instead  of  the 
grave  crime  of  prison  breach.  So  when  the  hinge 
slipped,  just  as  he  was  dangling  midway,  and  he  fell 
plump  into  Dobbs'  arm,  with  a  coil  of  rope  and  an  iron 
implement  behind  him,  he  only  laughed  as  delightedly  as 
a  high-perched  tomboy  after  climbing  a  forbidden  fence. 

"Well,  that  gives  us  back  the  hinge,"  he  said.  "We 
might  have  had  to  leave  it." 

Evidently  the  serious-talking  young  radical  had  a  vein 
of  drollery  under  his  thoughtful  exterior. 

"You  didn't  'urt  yourself?"  asked  Dobbs,  gathering  his 
own  dispersed  members  together. 

"Not  a  bit.  You're  as  good  as  a  feather  bed.  I'd  just 
enjoy  tumbling  on  you  four  or  five  times  a  day." 


192  THE   INCENDIARY. 

But  Dobbs,  ruefully  rubbing  his  barked  shins,  only  or- 
dered the  boatman  to  "give  way,"  which  is  nautical  for 
"pull  straight  ahead,"  and  in  three  or  four  strokes  they 
were  clear  of  the  embankment  and  out  in  the  full  cur- 
rent of  the  flowing  tide. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

ITS  CHICK  PROVES  PECULIAR. 

Have  you  never  lain  back  at  midnight  in  the  bow  of  a 
Whitehall,  with  your  hands  clasped  behind  your  head 
and  your  legs  lazily  outstretched — no  comrades  but  the 
oarsman  amidships,  and  the  fellow-passenger  facing  you 
from  the  stern,  no  sound  but  the  gurgle  of  your  own 
gliding,  no  sensation  but  the  onward  impulse  of  the  boat, 
as  gentle  as  the  swaying  of  a  garden  swing,  and  the 
scarcely  perceptible  breeze  aerating  the  surface  of  the 
river?  Then  the  moon  has  never  tinted  the  atmosphere 
for  you  with  such  voluptuous  purity  as  it  did  for  Robert 
Floyd  that  night,  and  the  sparse,  dim  stars  have  never 
announced  themselves  so  articulately  as  the  lights  of  a 
grander  city  than  that  whose  gloomy  masses  and  scat- 
tered lamps  they  overhung.  Even  Dobbs'  lighting  of  a 
cigar — no  cosmic  event,  surely — did  not  jar  upon  the 
grand  totality.  The  tiny  flame,  drawn  in  and  then  flar- 
ing up,  gave  flash-light  glimpses  of  a  face  unmatched  in 
the  shrewdness  and  humor  of  its  lines. 

For  fully  ten  minutes  not  a  word  was  spoken.  Sud- 
denly Dobbs'  voice  snapped  out: 

"The  hother  duds,  quick,  chummy.  There's  a  bobby  on 
the  draw." 

A  pair  of  black  trousers  was  thrown  toward  him  by 
tne  oarsman  and  Dobbs  drew  them  on  over  his  prison 
garb. 

"Now  the  coat." 

He  was  turning  his  striped  blouse  inside  out. 


THE   INCENDIARY.  193 

"Now,  let's  'ear  you  in  the  chorus,"  said  Dobbs,  who 
immediately  set  up  a  sailor's  song  about  Nancy  Lee. 
Robert  and  the  boatman  swelled  the  chorus  as  desired, 
with  rollicking  "Heave  ho's." 

"Quit  your  caterwauling  there!"  cried  the  policeman 
above.  The  pseudo-sailors  at  once  hushed  as  if  much 
frightened  and  rowed  swiftly  under  the  bridge,  while  the 
policeman,  satisfied  with  this  display  of  obedience, 
stalked  along  on  his  lonely  beat.  Above  the  bridge  the 
river  narrowed  and  the  banks  were  no  longer  of  granite, 
but  of  arable  loam  scalloped  into  a  thousand  little  inlets. 
An  hour  must  have  elapsed  and  three  more  bridges  had 
been  passed,  when  the  boatman  turned  into  one  of  these 
coves  and  drove  his  keel  against  a  grating  sand  bank. 
The  passengers  jumped  out  and  shook  the  cramp  from 
their  limbs. 

"Is  that  all,  Mr.  M— 

A  ringer  on  Dobbs'  lips  checked  the  boatman's  sen- 
tence half-wa\  and  a  nod  gave  the  answer  to  his  uncom- 
pleted question.  Robert  was  not  paying  attention,  but 
when  Dobbs  touched  his  arm  and  led  the  way  up  to  the 
road,  he  promptly  followed.  By  this  time  the  milkmen 
and  marketmen  were  about.  A  rattle  of  distant  wheels 
broke  the  silence  now  and  then.  The  dawn-birds  trebled 
their  matin  greeting  and  a  pearly  flush  located  the  east- 
ern quarter  of  the  sky.  After  a  few  turns,  Dobbs  ap- 
proached the  side  entrance  of  a  large  house,  not  unlike  an 
inn.  The  waiter  who  answered  his  tap  appeared  to  have 
been  expecting  him. 

"'Ere  we  are,  Bobbs,  me  boy.  'Ere  we'll  shift  our 
duds  and  'ave  a  talk  over  the  breakfast  victuals.  Whew! 
Hi'm  tired!  Fetch  a  lamp,  Johnnie,  into  the  guest  cham- 
ber. We  haren't  clemmin'  on  you,  we've  got  rocks.  Hey, 
Johnnie?" 

The  white-aproned  waiter  grinned  and  led  them  into  a 
private  room  with  a  table  in  the  middle. 

"The  porker,  Johnnie,  and  plenty  of  good  hold  hale 
with  the  fixin's." 

Dobbs  had  drawn  his  chair  up  to  the  table,  set  Floyd 


194  THE   INCENDIARY. 

opposite  him,  and  made  one  hand  wash  the  other  with 
the  true  gourmand's  expectancy  while  he  gave  this  savory 
order. 

"Well,  you  bloomin'  old  milksop!  Hi  suppose  you'll 
put  me  in  your  prayers  now,  hey?  Hey?  Hey?" 

Dobbs  poked  Robert  under  the  ribs  in  a  fashion  which 
the  young  man  might  have  resented  in  any  but  a  familiar 
and  a  benefactor.  Apparently  his  acknowledgment  of 
his  obligation  was  not  warm  enough  for  the  cracksman, 
who  began  grumbling  in  an  injured  tone. 

"Thankful?  Wot's  thankful?  A  word.  Hi  don't  want 
words.  Words  is  for  magistrates  and  ministers  and  such 
like  'ipocrites.  Hi  want  a  mark  of  confidence.  'Asn't 
Dobbs  trusted  Bobbs?" 

"Yes,  he  has." 

"Well,  w'y  won't  Bobbs  trust  Dobbs?  Are  we  mis- 
mated?  Do  we  work  at  cross-purposes?  Hi  need  a  pal, 
Bobbs — upon  which  you  may  remark  w'ere  is  the  shillin' 
comin'  from  wot's  payin'  this  piper?  Btft  there's  pals 
and  pals!  And  if  Hi  offer  my  friendship  to  a  honorable 
associate  Hi  made  the  acquaintance  of  while  we  was 
both  serving  in  Col.  Mainwaring's  regiment,  wot's  Jim 
Budge  got  to  say?  Cut  and  run,  Jim,  says  I,  and  much 
obliged  for  your  'elp.  'Ave  a  glass,  Bobbs?" 

The  waiter  had  brought  in  several  bottles  of  ale.  Rob- 
ert filled  out  a  glass  of  the  brown,  foaming  liquor  and 
poured  it  down  with  a  gusto  that  seemed  to  cheer  Dobbs 
immensely. 

"The  uniform,  Johnnie,  and  don't  overtoast  the 
porker." 

Johnnie  seemed  afflicted  once  more  with  his  grinning 
fit,  for  he  stuffed  his  apron  in  his  mouth  when  he  got 
to  the  door. 

"What  are  your  plans  ahead,  Dobbs?"  asked  Floyd, 
nibbling  a  pretzel,  while  the  cracksman  helped  himself 
liberally  to  the  ale. 

"My  plans  is  Chicago.  Hi'm  going  into  business  as 
a  reformer." 

"Ha,  ha;  what  will  you  reform — yourself  first,  I  sup- 
pose?" 


THE   INCENDIARY.  195 

"Hi'll  begin  on  the  police  force.  You  haren't  a-drink- 
in',  Bobbs.  Your  'ealth,  me  boy,  a-standin'  toast  to  the 
'ealth  of  Dobbs'  pal.  Hip,  hip,  hip-oh,  'ere's  Johnnie, 
with  the  porker." 

Johnnie  seemed  to  have  caught  a  sharp  glance  from 
Dobbs  on  the  threshold,  for  his  grin  subsided  and  he 
was  obsequious  in  his  attentions  to  the  breakfasting  pair. 
Dobbs  accepted  them  as  a  lord  would  the  bows  of  a 
lackey,  but  Robert  felt  constrained  to  brush  off  the 
importunate  caresses  which  he  had  no  means  of  repaying 
in  coin. 

"If  there's  one  meat  in  creation  wot's  sweet  and  savory," 
said  Dobbs  ecstatically,  digging  a  fork  in  the  dish  just 
brought,  "it's  a  juicy  little  3-months-old  baby  porker, 
swimmin'  in  greens  and  gravy." 

Robert  could  hardly  help  smiling  while  Dobbs  carved 
the  young  pig,  smacking  his  lips  prodigiously  mean- 
while. 

"A  hearty  breakfast,  me  boy;  we've  a  long  ride  be- 
fore us." 

"Where  to?" 

"Pitch  in  and  don't  spare  the  gravy — w'ere  to?  Wot 
say  to  the  Hargentine  Republic,  w'ere  you  can  sue  for 
your  uncle's  money  by  proxy,  hey?" 

"My  uncle's  money?" 

"It's  your'n,  now  the  will's  busted.'' 

"I  don't  want  the  money  and  never  wanted  it." 

"Then  wot  are  you  'ere  for?" 

"Only  the  fresh  air  and  the  trip.  I  thought  they  might 
do  me  good." 

"See  'ere,  Bobbs,  if  you  think  Hi'm  a-fishin'  for  a  slice 
o'  your  bloomin'  pile,  Hi'll  show  you  Hi'm  straight  as  a 
flag-pole.  Them's  not  the  harticles  of  partnership  Hi 
propose." 

"I  never  said  they  were,  Dobbs." 

"But  your  heye  says  you  suspect  me,  and  it  don't 
pay  to  be  too  suspicious,  me  boy.  Hi'm  opposed  to 
suspicion,  bein'  of  a  hinnocent  nature  myself.  'Aven't 
you  learned  that,  Bobbs,  halready?  'Aven't  Hi  trusted 


196  THE   INCENDIARY. 

a  hutter  stranger  with  my  rat's  tooth  and  gone  'alvesies 
with  'im,  doublin'  the  risk  and  not  doublin'  the  enjoy- 
ment?" 

"You've  placed  me  under  a  great  obligation,  certainly. 
I  wouldn't  have  missed  this  night  for  the  world." 

"  'Ere's  a  'ealth  to  it,  Bobbs — a  standin'  toast — and  may 
we  never  bunk  in  the  bastile  again.  Hip,  hip,  hip — ' 

"Here  are  the  clothes,  Mr.  Me — " 

The  crashing  of  a  beer  bottle  on  the  floor  cut  the  name 
off  at  the  initial  letter,  and  for  some  reason  Johnnie  did 
not  finish  it  after  he  had  picked  up  the  fragments. 

"Lay  the  duds  on  the  chair,  Johnnie;  we  haren't  done 
discussin'  the  porker."  A  black  business  outfit,  including 
headgear  and  footgear,  bore  witness  to  the  cracksman's 
foresight.  "Bring  us  some  more  hale.  'Ave  a  pretzel, 
Bobbs  (hie)." 

Bobbs  was  undeniably  succumbing  to  the  influence  of 
his  potations,  but  Robert  knew  the  thirst-creating  prop- 
erties of  salted  cracker,  so  he  declined  the  proffered  mor- 
sel. 

"Won't  break  bread  with  me!  Hi  say,  Bobbs,  this  is 
a  houtrage — a  houtrage.  W'ere'd  you  be  this  minute  if 
it  wasn't  for  me?  Afore  a  tender  little  juicy  porker,  a- 
sprawlin'  of  your  legs  under  the  table  and  a-facin'  a  hail 
jolly  Johnnie,  w'ich  is  me?  Or  snoozin'  in  a  ten-foot 
kennel,  with  sweet  dreams  o'  the  swingin'  gallows?" 

"I  wouldn't  be  here,  certainly,  Dobbs." 

"You  wouldn't  be  'ere !  That's  so.  A  glass  on  the  'ead 
of  it.  Your  'and,  Bobbs,  and  your  'ealth.  Bobbs  says 
(hie),  and  Bobbs  is  a  gemman  (hie),  Bobbs  says  he 
wouldn't  be  'ere.  But  afore  we  part,"  here  the  cracks- 
man sat  down  again,  "Hi  'ope  ee'll  show  ee's  a  gemman 
and  not  mistrust  'is  pal.  Hi  ain't  no  psalm-singer,  Bobbs, 
me  boy.  Wot's  more  natural,  with  a  blank  check  be- 
fore 'im,  than  for  the  confidential  clark  to  facsimilate  'is 
marster's  hautograph?  Wot's  the  hodds?  Hi'll  drink 
with  'im  hall  the  same — and  a  glass  on  the  'ead  of  it, 
Bobbs." 

Dobbs  was  rapidly  becoming  incoherent  and  his  in- 
coherence took  a  boastful  turn. 


THE   INCENDIARY.  197 

"Ho,  Hi  cawn't  'elp  a-grinnin,  w'en  Hi  think  of  old 
Koerber  a-wakin'  up  and  a-roarin'  for  'elp.  Didn't  Hi  do 
'im  brown,  Bobbs  (hie)?" 

"He  was  no  match  for  you,  certainly." 

"Ee?  Koerber?  Lemme  tell  you  there's  few  in  the 
fawncy  stand  as  'igh  as  Bill  Dobbs.  Wot's  Jim  Budge?  A 
hordinary  bloomin'  safe-cracker  as  must  'ave  a  pal.  Ee 
cawn't  stand  alone,  no  more'n  one  leg  of  a  scissors,  which 
is  the  Hirish  for  bachelor.  Barney  Pease  (hie)  is  truly 
great,  Hi  own.  For  sleight-of-'and  work  ee  'as  no  su- 
perior in  the  three  kingdoms." 

"Not  even  the  solitary  cracksman?" 

"Not  even  the  solitary  cracksman,  w'ich  is  me.  But 
sleight-of-'and  hisn't  hall,  Bobbs.  It's  sleight-of-'ead!  Do 
you  fawncy  Barney  Pease  could  'ave  got  you  over  that 
sky-scrapin'  wall?  It  was  Bill  Dobbs'  'andy  'inge  done 
that.  Lor'  bless  us !  We'll  be  famous  for  this  'ere  night's 
outin'." 

"I've  a  notion  you'd  be  a  bad  man  to  cross,  Dobbs, 
eh?" 

"Do  you  fawncy  Hi'd  'urt  you,  Bobbs,  me  hangel?  Hi 
wouldn't  'arm  you  no  more'n  a  wadge-dog  would  bark  at 
a  baby.  Hi'll  (hie)  Hi'll  protect  you,  Bobbs." 

Floyd  smiled  at  the  cracksman's  offer  of  patronage. 
But  this  time  he  thought  it  better  not  to  seal  the  compact 
with  a  bumper. 

"Not  drink?"  Dobbs'  temper  had  changed  again. 
"Won't  drink  and  won't  give  me  no  mark  of  'is  confi- 
dence— " 

"What  is  it  you  want,  Dobbs?    A  confession?'' 

"Confession?  Hi?  Ho!"  the  cracksman  laughed  as  if 
the  joke  were  a  rich  one.  He  was  far  gone,  as  indeed  any 
man  might  be  after  taking  so  many  quarts  of  ale. 

"Confession,  ho,  ho — wot  do  Hi  want  of  a  confession? 
Hi  'ad  a  natural  curiosity  to  know  'ow  you  set  it,  and" — 
his  voice  assumed  reproachful  quavers — "a  natural  morti- 
fication to  find  that  my  pal  (hie)  wouldn't  trust  me." 

"Well,  the  truth  is,  Dobbs—" 

"Wot  is  the  truth?" 


198  THE    INCENDIARY. 

"Is  this  house  safe?    Walls  have  ears,  they  say." 

"Safeazherown  (hie)." 

"I'm  afraid — couldn't  I  write  it  down — that  waiter,  you 
know — "  Robert  walked  uneasily  to  the  door,  but  the 
waiter  was  not  eavesdropping. 

"Waiter,"  Dobbs  rung  the  bell  and  Johnnie  appeared. 

"Bring  me  pen  and  paper."  They  were  brought  with 
expedition. 

"Zhall  I  'old  the  lamp,  Bobbs?" 

"It's  almost  lightsome  enough  to  see,  if  you  draw  up  the 
curtains." 

"Hi'll  'old  the  light,  Bobbs." 

"Steady,  now,  you'll  drop  it." 

Dobbs  staggered  over  behind  Robert,  with  the  lamp  in 
his  trembling  hand  and  stood  over  the  young  man's 
shoulder  while  he  wrote  the  following  confession: 

"When  you  pick  a  lady's  pocket  on  a  railway  train 
next  time,  do  it  with  your  left  hand,  Mr.  McCausl — " 

Before  he  realized  what  was  happening  the  lamp  had 
been  shattered  against  the  opposite  wall  and  he  found 
himself  forced  to  the  floor,  with  a  cold  circle  of  steel  at 
his  temple. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

BEHIND  THE  VEIL. 

"My  mother  has  your  flowers,"  said  Shagarach.  "She 
would  be  delighted  if  you  would  come  to  see  her." 

It  was  in  response  to  this  invitation  that  Emily  had  se- 
lected an  appropriate  dress  from  her  modest  wardrobe 
and  kissed  her  mother  good-by  for  the  evening.  She  was 
at  first  not  a  little  alarmed  when  a  young  man  sidled  up  to 
her  from  behind  and  began  uttering  incoherent  avowals 
of  devotion,  which  not  even  her  chilling  glance  and  has- 
tened step  could  check.  Kennedy  had  disappeared  for 
some  time, — probably  busy  extricating  himself  from  his 


THE    INCENDIARY.  199 

Dove-Cote  scrape, — and  she  had  congratulated  herself 
on  good  riddance  of  the  lovesick  manikin.  But  here  he 
was,  bolder  and  more  nauseously  enamored  than  before. 

She  felt  like  summoning  a  bystander  to  her  aid,  but 
as  she  was  walking  close  to  the  edge  of  the  sidewalk,  with 
Kennedy  on  the  very  curbstone,  this  appeal  for  help  was 
rendered  unnecessary.  A  quick,  firm  shove  with  her 
brave  little  hands  sent  the  shadow  of  a  man  topsy-turvy 
into  the  gutter,  while  Emily,  with  burning  cheeks  and 
quickened  pulse,  made  on  to  the  car  corner. 

An  old  Hebrew  housemaid  answered  her  ring  and  ush- 
ered her  into  the  tiny  parlor  of  the  tiny  house,  none  too 
large  for  even  the  three  persons  who  occupied  it — and 
three  is  the  smallest  number  that  can  be  called  a  family. 
It  need  not  be  said  that  Emily  was  all  a-flutter  with  the 
privilege  of  admission  to  the  great  lawyer's  private  ac- 
quaintance and  that  she  cast  a  curious  glance  upon  the 
surroundings.  There  was  something  oriental  about  them, 
even  to  the  barely  perceptible  odor  of  musk  in  the  air. 

The  carpet  was  clocked  in  a  Turkish  pattern,  though 
the  bough  birds  woven  in  the  corners  suggested  that  it 
came  from  one  of  the  countries  further  east,  where  the 
shah,  not  the  sultan,  rules  under  Allah,  and  the  admo- 
nitions of  the  prophet  are  less  literally  observed.  The 
lamp  was  a  silver  fantasy,  brazed  with  arabesques  in  gold, 
and  the  furniture  in  its  scroll-work  and  the  embroideries, 
like  gossamer,  all  whispered  of  a  taste  exotic  and  lux- 
urious. 

Yet  the  articles  were  few  and  severely  disposed  in  their 
places.  A  bust  of  Swedenborg  over  a  massively  carved 
bookcase,  filled  with  volumes  of  royal  exterior,  attracted 
Emily's  eye.  On  the  opposite  wall  were  several  shelves, 
crowded  with  plainer  books,  as  tattered  and  dingy  as  a 
schoolboy's  algebra.  A  portrait  of  Spinoza  reclined  on  an 
easel,  and  a  well-thumbed  Marcus  Aurelius,  of  pocket 
size,  with  flexible  covers,  lay  face  down  and  open  on  the 
table.  It  was  a  far  cry  from  the  Swedish  mystic  to  the 
imperial  stoic  of  Rome. 

"You  are  welcome,  Miss  Barlow,  to  my  home,"  ex- 


200  THE    INCENDIARY. 

claimed  Shagarach,  extending  his  hand  and  sunning  her 
with  his  great  warm  eyes. 

"Pardon  my  curiosity.  I  am  a  woman  and  a  book- 
lover,"  said  Emily,  who  had  been  standing  before  Shag- 
arach's  gorgeous  volumes  when  he  crossed  the  thresh- 
old. 

"They  are  not  secreted  from  those  who  can  handle 
them  without  danger,"  answered  the  lawyer,  opening  the 
bookcase.. 

"I  call  them  my  meeting  of  the  masters.'' 

Emily  marveled  at  the  range  and  judgment  of  the  se- 
lection. Here  were  Homer,  Dante,  Shakespeare  and 
Goethe  in  the  original  tongues,  which  her  own  studies  just 
enabled  her  to  distinguish  one  from  the  other;  the  Koran, 
the  Talmud,  the  Zend-Avesta;  Camoens,  Luis  de  Leon 
and  a  dozen  others  from  the  hidalgo  land;  Maimonides 
and  all  the  great  mediaeval  Hebrews ;  Keats,  Wordsworth 
and  Coleridge — whatever  richest  remnants  remain  from 
the  cultured  nations  of  Europe  and  western  Asia,  What 
rare  powers  of  acquisition,  what  hermit-like  seclusion 
from  the  busy  world,  were  implied  in  the  ability  to  read 
and  enjoy  these  treasures! 

"And  which  are  your  especial  favorites?"  asked  Emily. 

"The  Persian  poets,"  answered  Shagarach,  pointing  to 
the  uppermost  shelf,  where  the  titles  were  in  characters 
she  could  not  read,  resembling  odd  curves  of  beauty  and 
flourishes  of  a  draughtsman's  pen.  "Firdusi,  the  weaver 
of  the  magic  carpet,  who  spurned  back  the  treasure-laden 
caravan  of  the  shah ;  Sadi,  the  nightingale  of  a  thousand 
songs,  planter  of  the  rose  garden  and  the  garden  of  trees ; 
Hafiz,  the  sugar-lipped  dervish  of  Shiraz,  whose  couplets 
are  appealed  to  as  oracles  by  the  simple,  and  whose  legion 
of  commentators  surround  him  like  the  stars  clustering 
around  the  orb  of  the  moon." 

Was  this  the  criminal  lawyer,  the  granite-lipped  rea- 
soner  of  the  immobile  forehead,  forever  pacing  to  and 
fro,  folding  his  arms  in  solution  of  problems? 

The  memory  of  the  barren  law  office  was  vivid  upon 
her,  and  of  the  austere  occupant,  the  last  being  in  the 


THE  INCENDIARY.  201 

world  from  whom  dithyrambics  would  be  expected.  She 
found  it  hard  to  reconcile  the  task-ridden  Shagarach  with 
this  praiser  of  Firdusi,  the  half-fabulous  minstrel  who  had 
loved  to  recline  on  silken  divans,  smothered  with  roses 
and  waited  upon  by  his  hundred  slaves. 

"Inspect  them,"  said  Shagarach.  Emily  reached  for 
the  Persian  shelf.  The  books  stuck  a  little,  and  when 
they  came  away  she  was  surprised  to  find  that  they  were 
attached  together  in  sets  of  five ;  still  more  surprised  when 
she  turned  them  over  and  saw  a  fine  chain  of  steel  run- 
ning from  edge  to  edge  through  the  covers,  just  where 
the  clasp  of  an  album  fits,  and  meeting  again  in  an  ex- 
quisite padlock  at  the  middle  volume.  All  this  splendor 
of  beauty  and  thought  was  sealed  as  effectively  as  if  the 
pages  had  been  bathed  in  glue. 

"The  keys  to  the  padlock?''  she  looked  interrogatively. 
"There  is  only  one,"  said  Shagarach,  a  divine  smile  for 
the  first  time  breaking  the  set  curve  of  his  lips.  "It  fits 
them  all,  but  the  dragon  is  jealous  of  its  possession.  My 
mother,  Miss  Barlow." 

The  lady  who  had  entered  approached  Emily  and  greet- 
ed her  warmly. 

"My  son  said  you  were  beautiful,"  she  said. 

Emily  blushed.  She  was  usually  disconcerted  by 
praise,  but  somehow  the  entrance  of  the  mother  put  her 
more  at  her  ease.  Standing  beside  her  son,  the  lady  ap- 
peared to  be  taller  than  he,  though  this  may  have  been 
more  in  looks  than  in  inches,  since  the  standard  of  stature 
for  women  is  lower.  The  resemblance  between  them  was 
marked.  It  was  from  her  that  the  son  inherited  his 
beauty,  for  she  must  have  been  queenly  in  her  maiden- 
hood. Even  now  her  coloring  was  autumnally  perfect, 
the  rich  dark  skin,  oxidizing  like  an  old  painting,  having 
gained  in  mellowness  a  part  of  what  it  had  lost  in  bril- 
liancy. 

"We  live  plainly,  you  see,"  she  said,  speaking  with  a 
strong  accent,  as  if  she  had  learned  our  stubborn  lan- 
guage too  late  in  life  ever  to  master  it. 

"I  admire  your  furnishings,"  answered  Emily,  "but 
your  library  amazes  me  most  of  all." 


202  THE  INCENDIARY. 

The  son  and  mother  exchanged  a  sparkling  glance, 
while  Shagarach  replaced  the  Persian  set  on  its  shelf. 
But  he  did  not  explain  the  mystery  of  his  padlocked  treas- 
ures. 

"Miss  Barlow  has  been  wondering  at  my  taste  in  the 
poets,''  he  said,  diverting  the  conversation  a  little.  "She 
forgets,  perhaps,  that  we  are  orientals,  a  long  way  back. 
And  still  in  my  dreams  at  times  I  feel  the  rocking  rhythm 
of  the  camel  ride  and  the  winged  bulls  of  the  Assyrians 
seem  to  haunt  me  like  familiar  sights." 

All  at  once  Emily  remembered  that  she  had  often  di- 
vined a  more  emotional  and  mystical  side  to  the  criminal 
lawyer. 

And  then  in  a  flash  many  things  became  clear  to  her — 
Shagarach's  constant  repression  of  emotion,  his  frugality 
and  tireless  toil,  his  shutting  out  of  the  gypsy  violinist's 
strain  that  day  when  she  brought  him  the  news  of  Bertha 
— all  these  told  of  some  great  resignation,  the  ruthless 
division  of  a  dual  nature  and  the  discarding  of  one  part, 
perhaps  the  better  beloved,  and  the  abandonment  with 
that  resignation  of  almost  all  that  was  personal  to  him  in 
life — leaving  only  the  restlessly  energizing  intellect,  the 
ethical  strenuousness  as  of  a  modern  Isaiah,  the  filial  love 
and  these  sealed  mementos  of  a  more  congenial  but  prob- 
ably less  successful  past. 

"And  this  is  Spinoza — the  greatest  of  our  race,"  added 
Shagarach.  "Not  the  least  refined  of  human  faces." 

"My  ancestors  were  his  kinsmen,"  added  the  mother, 
not  without  pride.  "We  were  Spanish  once  and  my  son 
can  claim  the  title  of  count  in  Spain  if  he  chose — " 

"And  many  a  castle  in  that  country  besides,"  added  the 
son,  smiling  the  rare,  sweet  smile  which  he  reserved  for 
this  privacy  of  his  home. 

"But  my  mother  speaks  the  truth,  Miss  Barlow.  She 
is  an  accurate  historian,  as  you  see.  An  ancestor  of  mine 
rose  to  power  in  the  court  of  Ferdinand  and  left  his  wealth 
to  two  sons.  The  elder,  bearer  of  the  title,  chose  exile 
when  our  people  were  harried  from  Spain.  The  younger, 
by  apostatizing,  succeeded  to  his  name  and  property,  and 
the  heirs  of  that  brother  still  survive  in  Valencia.  That 


THE   INCENDIARY.  203 

makes  us  feel  for  Spinoza,  who  was  also  an  exile — and  a 
heretic,"  he  concluded,  in  a  lower  tone. 

"This  way,  Miss  Barlow,"  the  mother  led  Emily 
through  portieres  into  a  rear  room,  not  unlike  the 
parlor  in  its  furnishings.  "Here  are  the  flowers  which 
you  were  so  good,  so  thoughtful,  to  send.  I  have  changed 
the  water  twice  every  day,  and  last  night  put  them  out  to 
drink  in  the  rain,  for  they  love  the  rain  from  heaven,  it 
is  manna  to  them."  The  mother  fondled  them  as  if  they 
were  living  things,  and  gave  them  to  Emily  to  smell. 
They  were  indeed  wonderfully  fresh,  considering  the 
number  of  days  they  had  been  kept 

Shagarach  stepped  to  the  cleft  in  the  portieres  and 
excused  himself  to  answer  a  ring  at  the  doorbell.  Em- 
ily was  left  chatting  alone  in  the  dim  light  with  his 
mother.  From  flowers  to  other  subjects  of  feminine  in- 
terest the  transition  was  easy,  and  the  old  lady's  vivacity, 
strong  sense  and  above  all  her  warmth  of  heart  made  the 
minutes  pass  delightfully  for  the  sensitive  young  girl. 
She  had  not  been  conscious  of  any  unusual  merit  in  offer- 
ing Shagarach  a  simple  bouquet,  yet  it  had  deeply  touch- 
ed the  lonely  son  and  his  devoted  mother,  both  of  whom 
seemed  to  regard  her  now  with  that  intensity  of  friendship 
which  the  Arab  lavishes  upon  the  stranger  whom  he  ad- 
mits to  his  hospitality. 

It  was  while  they  were  alone  in  the  rear  chamber,  and 
Shagarach  was  conversing  in  low  tones  with  the  visitor 
behind  the  drawn  portieres — probably  a  client  calling  in 
the  evening — that  Emily's  attention  was  called  to  a  tap- 
ping noise  which  seemed  to  come  from  the  window.  She 
thought  it  best  not  to  speak  of  it,  though  it  continued  for 
almost  a  minute.  Besides,  she  remembered  having  often 
arisen  in  the  night  to  investigate  the  origin  of  just  such  a 
tapping,  and  lifted  the  sash  to  find  nothing  and  hear 
nothing,  not  even  a  departing  sparrow,  who,  perched  on 
the  sill,  might  have  been  feeling  his  way  along  the  trans- 
parent glass.  Shagarach's  mother  was  talking  herself  at 
the  time  and  probably  the  sound  of  her  voice  obscured 
the  interruption. 

"Is  it  not  pleasanter  in  here,  mother?"  Shagarach  had 


204  THE   INCENDIARY. 

thrown  the  portieres  aside  and  stood  again  in  the  cleft, 
widening  it  for  the  ladies  to  pass.  His  visitor  had  been 
dismissed,  but  it  was  a  few  moments  before  he  recovered 
his  earlier  manner.  By  a  graduated  ascent,  however,  h;s 
conversation  rose  to  its  former  glow  of  enthusiasm,  and 
Emily  could  not  help  contrasting  its  richness  and  elas- 
ticity with  the  sententiousness,  the  compressed  statement, 
bare  of  all  accessories,  which  characterized  him  when  at 
his  desk  in  the  office.  Probably  this  was  the  style  he  had 
used  in  addressing  his  caller,  and  the  transition  to  and 
fro  was  not  easy. 

"  'Try  how  the  life  of  a  good  man  suits  tb.ee/  "  Shaga- 
rach  began  reading  from  his  Marcus  Aurelius;  "  'the  life 
of  him  who  is  satisfied  with  his  portion  out  of  the  whole 
and  satisfied  with  his  own  just  acts  and  benevolent  dispo- 
sition.' That  is  the  advice  I  gave  to  my  visitor  and 
charged  him  nothing  for  it." 

"It  was  Simon  Rabof sky's  voice?"  asked  the  mother 
keenly. 

"Yes,"  answered  Shagarach. 

"Then  you  did  wrong.  You  should  have  charged  him 
double.  He  is  a  rogue." 

"For  the  emperor's  wisdom?"  smiled  Shagarach. 

"What  mischief  is  he  about?" 

"He  wishes  to  sell  Mrs.  Arnold's  jewels.  It  is  his  legal 
right,  since  she  has  defaulted  in  the  payment,  but  I  have 
counseled  a  postponement  of  its  exercise."  >v  • 

"And  will  he  postpone  it?"  asked  Emily,  sympathet- 
ically. 

"He?  My  dear,  you  do  not  know  him,"  said  the 
mother.  "He  is  of  the  tribe  of  Aaron,  who  worshiped 
the  golden  calf." 

Emily  wondered  if  some  of  the  proud  Spanish  blood 
had  not  become  mingled  with  the  Hebrew  in  her  veins. 
Scorn  of  petty  avarice  was  betrayed  in  every  line  of  her 
noble  face.  Yet  Emily  felt  sure  that  it  was  she  who  had 
called  Shagarach  away  from  the  companionship  of  the 
Persian  poets  and  impelled  him  to  write  his  signet  on  the 
living  world  in  letters  of  self-assertion  and  honorable 
achievement. 


THE  INCENDIARY.  205 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

AN  UNBIDDEN  GUEST. 

"What  tainted  people  you  have  to  deal  with!"  she  ex- 
claimed, unconsciously  continuing  her  vein  of  silent 
thought.  "I  should  crave  another  environment,  I  think." 

"Your  Christ  lived  with  sinners  and  publicans.  And 
they  are  not  all  tainted,  my  dear,''  added  the  moth- 
er, smiling  so  that  Emily  might  know  whom  she  meant 
to  except.  "There  is  so  much  in  common  between 
my  son  and  Mr.  Floyd.  Both  proud,  serious,  too  serious, 
I  tell  him,  and  both  true  Castilians  in  honor.  But  the 
one  looked  about  wisely  and  found  him  a — lady;  and 
the  other — " 

"The  other  will  grow  gray  by  his  good  mother's  side, 
I  fear,''  said  Shagarach,  gently  kissing  the  laughing  and 
delighted  old  lady.  Emily  smiled  herself  to  see  John 
Davidson's  sphinx,  whose  reticence  outside  was  indeed  a 
mask  of  stone,  unbending  thus  to  the  frankness  and  sim- 
plicity of  a  child.  The  mother's  ways  were  more  demon- 
strative, but  with  deep  reserves  of  dignity. 

"But  you  are  right,  Miss  Barlow.  The  lawyer's  pro- 
fession is  one  shade  more  distasteful  than  the  surgeon's, 
for  he  handles  the  moral  sores  of  humanity." 

"Handles  them  to  cure  them,"  cried  Emily,  shifting 
about,  like  a  true  woman. 

"Possibly.  Though  for  my  own  part  I  agree  with  those 
who  hold  that  the  law  perpetrates  no  less  wickedness  than 
it  punishes — were  it  not  that  it  prevents  more  than  it 
perpetrates,"  he  added,  smiling,  "we  should  live  in  a 
very  troublesome  world.  It  is  a  profession  which  uses 
the  conscience  as  a  whetstone  upon  which  to  sharpen  the 
intellect.  I  attribute  the  venality  of  our  congress  and  leg- 
islatures partly  to  the  disproportion  among  them  of  law- 
yers." 


206  THE    INCENDIARY. 

"But  surely  there  are  exceptions?" 

"In  the  criminal  courts,"  answered  Shagarach.  Emily 
asked  herself  if  this  was  Shagarach's  destiny,  to  continue 
as  a  criminal  lawyer.  As  if  in  answer  to  her  question,  he 
added: 

"There  alone  one  can  feel  at  all  times  that  he  is  either 
protecting  the  innocent  or  punishing  the  guilty.  This  is 
my  working  library,"  he  pointed  to  the  thumbed  volumes 
on  the  shelves.  Emily  noticed  that  most  of  them  were 
treatises  on  psychology,  the  old  and  the  new. 

"I  do  not  carry  the  keys  for  those,"  said  his  mother, 
gayly. 

"Light  to  illuminate  our  case,"  Shagarach  took  down 
one  of  the  books.  "By  the  way,  my  correspondent,  Mr. 
Skull-and-Crossbones,  has  honored  me  again." 

The  two  ladies  started  and  the  mother  seized  her  son 
by  the  arm. 

"A  black-edged  letter,  apprising  me  that  I  am  marked 
and  doomed."  Just  then  Emily  heard  the  strange  tap- 
ping that  had  startled  her  before.  It  came  from  the  win- 
dow of  the  front  parlor  this  time.  She  shuddered  in  a 
sudden  terror  and  drew  closer  to  Mrs.  Shagarach.  The 
old  lady  had  heard  the  sound  and  blanched  a  little,  but 
her  voice  was  firm  when  she  spoke: 

"Is  that  a  mouse  in  the  wainscoting,  my  son?" 

"I  thought  it  was  a  tapping  at  the  window,  mother." 

"Go  and  look.    There  may  be  a  stranger  in  the  yard." 

Shagarach  raised  the  curtain  and  looked  out,  then 
opened  the  window.  The  cool  night  air  flowed  in  and 
heightened  Emily's  tremors  so  that  the  elder  lady  took 
pity  on  her. 

"There  is  no  one  in  sight,  mother,  but  I  will  put  on  my 
hat  and  go  out  the  back  door." 

In  a  few  minutes  Shagarach  returned  by  the  street  en- 
trance. 

"I  thought  I  heard  footsteps  in  the  passageway  and  fol- 
lowed them  around,  but  there  is  no  one.  The  yard  is 
empty." 

"I  will  inform  the  policeman   to-morrow,"  said  his 


THE   INCENDIARY.  207 

mother.  "There  are  many  loiterers  about  in  these  bad 
times.  And  you  should  acquaint  them  with  the  letter 
you  received." 

"I  have  done  so,  mother.  I  have  considered  it  strange/' 
he  added,  turning  toward  Emily,  "that  the  parties  op- 
posed to  us  in  the  Floyd  case  should  resort  to  murder. 
It  is  a  confession  of  guilt." 

"If  they  are  caught." 

"Murder  will  out.  Moreover,  I  do  not  work  alone.  I 
have  engaged  the  assistance  of — whom  do  you  think?" 

"Of  Mr.  McCausland,"  said  the  mother,  breaking  in. 
"It  was  my  suggestion." 

"McCausland  investigating  Harry  Arnold!"  exclaimed 
Emily. 

"Is  it  not  amusing?  But  he  will  not  allow  that  Arnold 
is  at  all  open  to  suspicion,  and  of  course  I  have  not  laid 
all  my  evidence  before  him." 

"But  surely  the  letters  are  connected  with  our  case, 
and  who  else  could  it  be?" 

Since  the  finding  of  the  glove  and  the  testimony  of  the 
three  gamins  Emily  was  coming  around  to  Shagarach's 
view  of  Harry  Arnold's  possible  guilt  and  the  attack  on 
Robert's  lawyer  had  aroused  her  sympathies  so  as  al- 
most if  not  quite  to  convince  her. 

"Mr.  McCausland  is  very  keen — a  wonderful  man — of 
deceptive  exterior,  but  like  the  rest  of  us,  he  sometimes 
makes  mistakes,"  said  Shagarach.  "His  defect  is  that 
he  uses  the  logical  method  only  and  ignores  the  psycho- 
logical. It  is  necessary  first  to  find  out  if  the  accused  is 
capable  of  the  crime.  I  first  became  sure  of  Robert 
Floyd's  innocence  when  I  saw  him  through  the  cell-bars 
of  the  jail.  He  is  incapable  of  the  crime." 

"My  son  so  admires  your  lover,"  added  Mrs.  Shaga- 
rach. 

"These  other  friends  of  mine,"  continued  her  son,  tak- 
ing down  the  thumbed  volume  which  he  had  put  back 
when  the  tapping  startled  them,  "commit  the  opposite 
error.  They  are  strictly  physiological.  They  predict  too 
much  from  a  man's  physical  peculiarities/' 


208  THE  INCENDIARY. 

The  book  he  opened  for  Emily  was  a  treatment  on 
criminology,  illustrated  with  villainous  heads  in  profile 
and  full  face.  It  was  in  Italian,  so  Shagarach  exchanged 
it  for  another. 

"Behold  the  brands  of  the  true  criminal — 'enormous 
zygomae,'  'ear  lobes  attached  to  the  cheek,'  'spatulate  fin- 
gernails  ' " 

"That  takes  in  Mr.  McCausland,"  said  Emily,  roguish- 
ly. She  had  got  over  her  fright  by  this  time  and  the 
allusion  to  spatulate  fingernails  recalled  the  whole  train 
of  events  which  had  ended  in  the  inspector's  discomfit- 
ure. 

"The  refutation  of  such  theorists,"  said  Shagarach,  "is 
simple.  We  need  only  point  to  the  fact  that  the  greatest 
crimes  are  committed  by  men  who  are  not  professional 
criminals  at  all  and  who  do  not  belong  to  the  criminal 
type." 

"Like  this  man,"  said  the  mother,  going  to  a  closet  at 
one  side  and  drawing  forth  a  bundle  of  photographs.  One 
of  them  she  showed  to  Emily.  It  was  Harry  Arnold,  bold 
and  handsome,  with  the  shaggy  cape  coat  thrown  care- 
lessly over  his  shoulders. 

"Has  he  enormous  zygomae,  ear-lobes  attached  to  his 
cheek?"  she  asked. 

"I  wish  I  could  see  his  fingernails,"  laughed  Emily. 

"Arnold's  face  in  repose  does  not  show  much  capacity 
for  evil.  But  it  lights  up  badly.  I  have  seen  him  crossed 
and  in  passion." 

"I  think  he  looks  as  if  he  were  veined  of  evil  and  good," 
said  Emily  frankly,  studying  the  portrait  long,  as  she 
loved  to  do.  She  had  seen  Harry  once  when  he  was  at 
his  best.  Besides,  her  service  in  the  photograph  studio 
had  made  her  something  of  a  physiognomist,  too,  though 
not,  of  course,  such  a  soul-reader  as  Shagarach. 

"His  crimes  are  of  the  preventable  order  and  therefore 
the  more  culpable.  There  are  men  born  to  crime,  as  the 
theorists  argue;  others  driven  to  crime.  For  both  of 
these  classes  it  is  hardly  more  than  a  misplaced  emphasis, 
a  wrong  direction  of  energies." 


THE    INCENDIARY.  209 

"Here  is  another  volume — I  am  showing  you  all  my 
workshop.  Does  it  fatigue  you?1' 

"Nothing  which  helps  to  clear  up  the  mystery  is  dull 
to  me,"  answered  Emily. 

"This  treatise  deals  with  'Incidental  Homicide.'  Rath- 
er legal  than  clinical.  The  cases  are  all  parallel  to  ours. 
The  indictment,  by  the  way,  has  just  been  given  out.  The 
weakest  count  charges  Robert  Floyd  with  arson  and 
murder  in  the  second  degree.  The  punishment  for  that  is 
only  imprisonment  for  life." 

"Only!  Robert  says  he  would  rather  be  hanged." 

"Let  him  have  no  fear  of  either,"  said  Mrs.  Shaga- 
rach,  cheerily. 

"The  newspapers  tell  us  that  the  government  offered 
much  new  evidence,"  said  Shagarach. 

"I  should  like  to  know  what  it  was,"  cried  Emily, 
eagerly. 

"So  should  I.  Ordinarily,  the  grand-jury  room  is  leaky 
enough,  but  Mr.  McCausland,  who  is  the  government  in 
this  case,  appears  to  have  found  a  way  to  seal  it  hermet- 
ically." 

"Perhaps  he  padlocked  the  jurors'  lips,"  suggested  Em- 
ily, whereat  all  three  were  merry. 

From  time  to  time  during  the  conversation  relapses  of 
the  old  shudder  had  come  back  to  Emily,  though  the 
tapping  had  utterly  ceased  since  Shagarach  investigated 
the  yard.  He  had  left  the  curtain  half-raised,  so  that  any 
one  approaching  the  window  would  be  visible  from  with- 
in. It  was  just  at  this  moment  that  she  happened  to 
change  her  seat,  bringing  her  face  around  to  the  darkened 
window.  Before  the  others  could  catch  her,  she  had 
risen,  pointed  to  the  window  and  fallen  to  the  floor  with 
a  terrified  shriek. 

Shagarach  started  to  raise  her,  but  the  terrible  detona- 
tion of  a  pistol  rung  out,  sacrilegiously  invading  their 
quietude.  Then  all  was  darkness,  a  noise  of  crashing 
glass  telling  that  the  lamp  had  been  shattered  and  extin- 
guished. Another  report  followed  and  another.  Mrs. 
Shagarach,  trembling,  heard  her  son  quickly  crossing  to 


210  THE   INCENDIARY. 

the  window.  The  panes  seemed  to  be  broken,  and  there 
were  sounds  of  a  scuffle,  mingled  with  a  gnashing  of  teeth 
and  growls  more  animal  than  human.  Suddenly,  with  a 
ripping  sound,  the  scuffle  ceased,  and  rapid  footsteps  were 
heard  pattering  away.  Then  her  son  spoke  to  her  in  the 
loud,  firm  voice  which  he  used  in  all  practical  affairs. 

"Light  the  little  lamp,  mother.  It  is  safe  now.  There 
are  matches  on  the  mantel." 

"Are  you  hurt,  Meyer?"  she  asked,  anxiously,  while 
lighting  the  lamp. 

"A  little,"  he  answered. 

"You  were  shot,  my  son?"  she  cried,  embracing  him. 

"No.  Let  us  revive  Miss  Barlow.  Some  water,  Rach- 
el," he  said  to  the  old  servant  who  had  come  to  the 
door. 

When  Emily  came  to  she  found  Mrs.  Shagarach  spong- 
ing her  forehead,  while  her  son  was  washing  his  hands  in 
a  basin  of  bloody  water. 

"Wrap  the  cotton  around  them  quickly,  Rachel,"  he 
was  saying.  "I  must  notify  the  police." 

"Meyer,  it  is  not  safe." 

Emily  heard  the  mother  protesting,  then  swooned 
again.  When  full  consciousness  returned  the  lawyer  was 
gone  and  the  three  women  were  alone  in  the  room.  Rach- 
el began  picking  up  the  fragments  of  the  lamp.  Only  its 
chimney  and  globe  had  been  broken,  the  metal  being  still 
intact.  The  windowpanes  showed  great  ragged  holes, 
which  explained  the  laceration  of  Shagarach's  hands. 

"Poor  lady,"  cried  the  mother.  "This  is  ill  treatment 
we  give  you.  But  we  are  not  to  blame.  It  is  the  wicked 
enemies  who  are  pursuing  us  all — your  lover  and  my 
son."  With  terms  of  endearment  she  petted  the  weak 
girl  back  into  a  coherent  understanding  of  her  position. 
But  every  now  and  then  the  remembrance  of  something 
would  cause  her  to  shudder  again  visibly;  whereat  the 
elder  lady  would  renew  her  caresses. 

"I  have  notified  the  policeman.  That  was  the  best  I 
could  do,"  said  Shagarach,  re-entering.  He  looked  ex- 
tremely grave.  It  was  a  narrow  escape  for  one  or  more 


THE  INCENDIARY.  211 

of  the  three.  "This  is  all  I  have  to  identify  him  by.  It 
was  detached  in  the  struggle." 

He  laid  a  common  coat  button  down  on  the  table,  with 
a  piece  of  cloth  adhering. 

"That  face!  Who  could  ever  forget  it?"  cried  Emily. 

"You  saw  him,  then?''  asked  son  and  the  mother  in  one 
breath. 

"Shall  I  call  it  'him'?  Was  it  a  man?"  answered  Emily. 
"Rather  a  monster,  no  more  than  half-human." 

"It  had  the  form  of  a  man,"  said  Shagarach,  "as  I  felt 
it  through  the  glass." 

Rachel  was  busy  bandaging  his  cuts  with  plaster  dur- 
ing this  conversation,  but  they  bled  through,  calling  for 
the  surgeon's  thread. 

"But  it  snarled  like  a  tiger,"  said  the  mother. 

"Oh  the  wild,  blue  eyes!  They  were  staring  at  me 
through  the  cleft  of  the  draperies.  And  the  demon  leer, 
and  the  forehead,  retreating  like  a  frog's '' 

"It  is  the  oaf  I  passed  on  the  pier,"  cried  Shagarach,  in- 
terrupting Emily.  "We  have  found  Mr.  Skull-and-Cross- 
bones." 

"Oaf?    What  is  oaf?"  asked  the  mother. 

"An  idiot,  a  monster." 

She  shuddered. 

"A  man  of  that  description  cannot  long  elude  search," 
said  the  son  in  a  more  hopeful  tone. 

"They  are  often  very  cunning,"  replied  the  mother. 

"Can  it  be  Harry  Arnold  would  employ  such  an 
agent?"  asked  Emily,  still  trembling. 

"Twice,"  said  Shagarach,  as  if  speaking  to  himself.  "A 
cap  and  a  button.  Men  have  been  captured  on  slighter 
clews." 

"You  will  give  the  button  to  Mr.  McCausland/'  said 
the  mother. 

"Yes ;  since  it  fits  with  the  cap." 

"Maybe  he  will  help  you  to  bring  Harry  Arnold  to 
justice." 

"And  so  to  acquit  Robert  Floyd,"  said  Shagarach,  smil- 
ing to  cheer  his  guest. 


212  THE   INCENDIARY. 

The  mention  of  her  lover  restored  the  wilted  girl,  who 
was  brave  enough  when  there  was  anything  definite  to 
be  done.  Shagarach  showed  her  the  book  on  "Arson" 
which  he  had  been  holding  when  the  first  shot  was  fired. 
The  bullet  had  pierced  it  on  its  career  toward  the  lamp. 

"The  bullets  will  be  evidence  also,"  he  said,  "and  I 
will  measure  the  footprints  before  the  rain  comes  down 
and  washes  them  away." 

"You  will  wish  to  go  home,  poor  child,"  said  Mrs. 
Shagarach  to  Emily.  "Not  yet,  but  soon,  when  you  are 
stronger.  Rachel !" 

The  soothing  words  of  the  mother  warmed  Emily  quite 
as  much  as  the  wine  which  Rachel  brought.  Meanwhile 
two  policemen  entered  and  began  to  examine  the  prem- 
ises. Shagarach  visited  the  yard  in  their  company  and 
soon  returned  with  a  tape  measure  and  a  paper  block, 
on  which  he  had  recorded  the  lengths  of  the  footprints. 

He  was  assiduous  in  his  regrets  and  inquiries  toward 
Emily  and  insisted  on  accompanying  her  home  in  a  car- 
riage, which  the  mother,  however,  would  not  allow  them 
to  enter  until  she  had  exacted  from  her  visitor  a  prom- 
ise that  she  would  come  again  on  an  appointed  evening, 
and  pressed  upon  her  in  true  oriental  fashion  a  certain 
rose-embroidered  gossamer  scarf  for  which  Emily  had  ex- 
pressed admiration. 

At  her  own  door  the  sweet  girl  heard  Shagarach  order 
the  hackman  to  drive  to  Dr.  Lund's,  and  she  guessed 
that  his  cuts  would  be  somewhat  worse  for  the  delay  in 
stitching  them.  That  night  she  saw  gorgon  faces  leering 
in  at  her  window,  and  her  dreams  were  of  new-moon 
scimiters  and  the  rocking  of  the  camel  ride. 


THE    INCENDIARY.  213 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

JACOB  AND  DELILAH. 

"Put  your  wrists  together !'' 

The  voice  was  totally  different  from  Dobbs'  whine;  a 
strong,  deep  register,  like  a  ledge  of  the  basal  rock  peep- 
ing out  from  a  smiling  meadow.  For  the  first  time  Rob- 
ert felt  the  veiled  strength  which  resided  in  the  detect- 
ive's character.  There  was  no  option  but  to  obey. 

"Pull  up  the  curtains,  Johnnie." 

The  servant  had  been  attracted  by  the  crash  of  the 
lamp.  A  faint  stream  of  daylight  entered  the  chamber, 
and  the  noises  of  the  city  could  be  heard  in  the  distance. 
M'cCausland's  face  seemed  to  have  altered  in  every  line. 

"Get  a  hack!  Jump  into  those  shoes!"  He  tossed  a 
curt  order  right  and  left,  one  for  Johnnie,  the  other  for 
Robert 

"To  the  county  jail,"  was  his  direction  to  the  hack 
driver.  Robert  wondered  at  this,  but  he  sat  back  smil- 
ing and  said  nothing  during  all  the  ride. 

"Here's  your  prisoner,"  said  McCausland  when  they 
arrived.  It  was  not  yet  6  o'clock,  but  the  sheriff  was  up 
and  showed  no  great  surprise.  Robert  wondered  at  this 
again  and  his  amazement  was  not  abated  when  they  as- 
signed him  to  his  original  cell  in  murderers'  row.  How- 
ever, the  change  was  to  his  liking,  for  the  surroundings 
were  less  presageful  of  permanency. 

"You  missed  your  vocation  as  a  character  actor,"  was 
his  parting  shot  at  McCausland. 

It  is  easy  to  imagine  the  dismay  in  the  prison  that 
morning  when  the  escape  was  discovered.  Col.  Main- 
waring  was  a  very  different  man  from  Warden  Tapp,  and 
for  a  time  it  looked  as  though  McCausland  might  lose 
his  badge.  But  when  he  showed  an  order  from  the  sher- 
iff empowering  him  to  bring  the  body  of  Robert  Floyd 


214  THE  INCENDIARY. 

from  the  state  prison  back  to  the  county  jail,  which  had 
now  been  put  in  repair,  Col.  Mainwaring  saw  a  light;  and 
when  McCausland  pointed  out  that  he  had  laid  his  finger 
precisely  on  certain  weaknesses  of  the  bastile,  frequently 
suggested  without  avail  to  Tapp,  the  new  warden  thanked 
him  pleasantly. 

The  story  at  first  was  given  to  the  public  that  Inspec- 
tor McCausland  had  captured  the  fugitive,  Robert  Floyd, 
and  for  a  time  not  only  did  the  detective's  cap  wear  a 
bright  new  feather  but  all  the  credit  of  Robert's  conduct 
during  the  riot  was  canceled  by  this  outbreak,  which  was 
construed  as  a  confession  of  guilt.  But  of  course  the 
truth  leaked  out,  and  the  failure  of  his  "nest-egg  game," 
with  its  brilliant  but  desperate  climax,  was  made  the  oc- 
casion of  much  chaffing  to  the  contriver. 

"Has  Bill  Dobbs  been  taken  yet?"  a  brother-in-buttons 
would  ask  him;  and  the  two  lovers  had  many  a  good 
laugh  over  the  game  which  they  had  played  and  won.  For 
the  first  time  since  the  great  shadow  fell  across  them  they 
were  as  happy  and  hopeful  as  lovers  should  be,  and  for 
several  days  little  smiles  of  reminiscence  would  creep  into 
the  corners  of  Emily's  lips  while  she  was  touching  out 
the  blemishes  in  some  negative  destined  to  pass  from 
young  Amaryllis  to  her  Strephon  or  old  Darby  to  his 
Joan. 

Meanwhile  Shagarach,  too,  was  interesting  himself  in 
the  study  of  photographs. 

"Have  they  all  been  returned?"  he  asked  Aronson  one 
morning. 

"All  but  Meester  Davidson's.'' 

"And  none  of  the  neighbors  saw  Arnold  coming  out?'' 

"They  all  shake  their  heads  and  say  no,  they  don'd 
know  that  face." 

"Very  well.  Jacob  may  put  them  in  his  desk.  We 
shall  hardly  need  them  again.  Go  over  to  the  second  ses- 
sion and  answer  for  me  in  the  Morrow  case.  I  am  ex- 
pecting Mr.  McCausland." 

"Speak  of  angels/'  said  the  inspector,  entering  cordial- 
ly. "You  know  the  rest  of  the  saying." 


THE    INCENDIARY.  215 

"Good-morning.    Be  seated.'' 

It  did  not  escape  even  modest  Saul  Aronson  what  a 
contrast  the  antagonists  made,  sitting  with  the  table  be- 
tween them.  McCausland  had,  apparently,  not  glanced 
around  with  more  than  casual  interest,  yet,  if  blind-folded 
then  and  there  and  put  to  the  test,  he  could  have  surprised 
those  who  did  not  know  him  with  the  minute  and  copious 
inventory  of  the  office,  not  excluding  its  occupants,  which 
this  glance  had  furnished  him.  It  was  this,  with  his  al- 
most infallible  memory,  which  made  him  so  formidable 
an  opponent  at  whist  Shagarach  was  hardly  his  equal 
in  mere  perception,  perhaps  not  his  superior  in  analysis, 
when  the  subject  was  within  McCausland's  range.  His 
advantage  lay,  if  anywhere,  as  he  had  said  himself,  in  his 
deeper  insight  into  the  human  soul,  in  his  psychological 
reach. 

"Sorry  I  was  out  when  you  called  the  other  day,"  said 
McCausland.  "I've  been  looking  up  your  matter." 

"With  what  result?" 

"These  clippings  may  interest  you." 

Shagarach  glanced  rapidly  over  the  newspaper  scraps. 

"The  Broadbane  murder — I  remember  that  well.'' 

"It  occurred  about  a  week  before  your  first  attack.  You 
remember  Broadbane  lured  the  young  woman  to  a  lonely 
bridge  in  his  carriage  and  threw  her  into  the  river." 

"The  circumstances  were  similar  to  my  adventure.  The 
second  item  is  strange  to  me." 

"It's  from  a  New  York  paper,  dated  July  28 — the  very 
day  before  your  second  attack.  The  circumstances  are 
closely  similar  this  time  again.  A  jealous  husband  shot 
his  wife  through  the  window  of  her  room.'' 

"Our  monster  reads,  then." 

"He  is  a  lunatic  (puff),"  said  McCausland,  who  had 
lighted  his  invariable  cigar. 

"You  believe  so?" 

"The  evidence  convinces  me.  They  have  an  itch  to  imi- 
tate, as  you  are  aware.  This  man  is  a  victim  of  homicidal 
mania,  of  which  you  have  unfortunately  become  the  ob- 
ject (puff)." 


216  THE   INCENDIARY. 

"Why  Shagarach  and  not  another?" 

"Newspaper  notoriety.  You  should  see  my  crop  of 
cranks.  This  particular  crack-brain  has  aimed  his  illusion 
at  you.  We  must  strait-jacket  him  before  it  goes  further." 

"You  expect,  then,  to  have  him  soon?" 

"Sooner  or  later  (puff).  Let  us  know  if  you  hear  any- 
thing. I  see  you  were  hurrying  off  as  I  came  in.  Good- 
day." 

McCausland  had  been  deputed  to  investigate  the  at- 
tacks on  Shagarach,  because  they  connected  themselves 
so  manifestly,  through  the  threatening  letters,  with  the 
Floyd  case,  which  he  was  handling.  Neither  he  nor 
Shagarach  had  objected  to  this  opportunity  to  meet  and 
possibly  force  each  other's  hands  a  little. 

"I  shall  be  in  the  Criminal  Court,  second  session, 
Jacob.  Remain  here  till  Mr.  Aronson  comes."  Shaga- 
rach was  gone  and  Jacob  left  alone  to  his  meditations. 

To  judge  from  his  expression,  they  were  never  very 
pleasant.  Perhaps,  like  Job  of  old,  he  daringly  questioned 
the  power  behind  human  destiny,  why  he  showers  clev- 
erness and  attraction  on  one  boy  of  14,  while  another  is 
afflicted  with  a  manner  of  nose  preposterous,  conspicu- 
ous and  undisguisable,  to  carry  which  is  a  burden.  That 
godlike  young  man  in  the  photograph,  how  he  would  like 
to  be  as  handsome  as  he!  Was  there  no  way  to  attain  it? 
He  took  the  bundle  of  photographs  out  of  his  drawer  and 
laid  them  on  his  desk  to  study  and  admire. 

While  thus  engaged  the  jingle  of  harness  outside  at- 
tracted him.  He  knew  by  the  sound  that  the  carriage  had 
stopped  before  his  door.  It  wasn't  often  that  equipages, 
sprinkling  sleigh-bell  music  in  their  course,  paused  at  the 
door  of  the  dingy  old  business  building.  So  Jacob  be- 
came interested  enough  to  approach  the  window  of  the 
inner  office  languidly  and  peep  down  into  the  street. 

There  stood  a  covered  black  carriage,  as  polished  as  a 
mirror,  with  a  buff-liveried  coachman  holding  the  reins. 
His  seat  was  perched  so  high  that  his  legs  made  one 
straight,  unbending  line  to  the  footrest,  and  his  back  was 
as  vertical  as  a  carpenter's  plummet  Mrs.  Arnold  was 


THE   INCENDIARY.  217 

not  careless  of  these  niceties.  It  would  have  shocked  her 
sense  of  the  fitness  of  things  almost  as  much  to  publish 
the  fact  that  her  coachman  had  knees,  as  if  her  own 
lorgnette  should  stray  from  the  proscenium  box  higher 
than  the  first  balcony — an  impropriety  which  had  hap- 
pened only  once  to  her  knowledge,  and  that  by  inad- 
vertence, on  an  opera  night. 

"This  is  Mr.  Shagarach's  office,  I  believe/'  said  the 
grand  lady  to  Jacob. 

"Yes'm/'  he  mumbled,  abashed. 

"He  is  out,  I  perceive.    Does  he  return  soon?" 

"No'm." 

"About  when  could  I  see  him  if  I  should  wait?" 

"He  is  trying  a  case'm,  over  in  the  second  court'm, 
criminal  session,"  answered  Jacob,  mixing  things  badly 
in  his  confusion. 

"Couldn't  you  send  for  him?" 

"Mr.  Aronson  will  be  here  soon.  Perhaps  he  would 
know." 

"I  will  wait  a  few  minutes,"  said  the  lady,  sitting  down 
with  hauteur  in  the  cushioned  chair  which  Jacob  pushed 
toward  her.  After  a  spell  of  silence  she  addressed  him 
again  in  a  gentler  tone: 

"What  is  your  name,  little  boy?"  she  asked. 

"Jacob,"  he  answered.  Servants  and  office  boys  grow 
to  think  of  themselves  as  having  only  one  name. 

"Jacob.  That  is  a  very  old  and  dignified  name.  Are 
you  Mr.  Shagarach's  clerk?" 

"No'm." 

"His  errand  boy,  then?" 

"Yes'm." 

"It's  too  bad  you  had  to  leave  school  so  young.  I 
suppose  you  give  all  you  earn  to  your  mother?" 

"Yes'm." 

"Haven't  you  any  father?" 

"No'm." 

Jacob  thought  he  had  never  met  such  a  kind  lady. 
How  sympathetic  she  seemed  and  was  it  not  gracious  of 
her  to  inquire  about  his  father  and  mother?  How  much 


218  THE   INCENDIARY. 

more  agreeable  it  was  to  deal  with  real  ladies  and  real 
gentlemen  who  never,  never  would  call  vulgar  names. 
He  would  have  given  almost  half  his  week's  spending 
money  to  oblige  this  sweet-tongued  lady  then,  and  his 
only  regret  was  that  he  could  think  of  no  better  answer 
to  her  questions  than  "Yes'm"  and  "No'm." 

"If  you  are  an  errand  boy  perhaps  you  could  do  a  lit- 
tle errand  for  me,"  said  the  lady  sweetly  after  a  pause. 

"Yes'm,"  answered  Jacob,  putting  a  world  of  eager- 
ness into  the  word. 

"You  are  sure  you  can  do  errands  and  not  make  a  mis- 
take?" 

"No'm — yes'm,"  he  replied,  a  little  puzzled  as  to  which 
of  the  two  words  which  seemed  to  constitute  his  whole 
vocabulary  fitted  into  his  meaning  here. 

"Then,  perhaps,  I  will  let  you  take  this  for  me." 

She  drew  out  the  tiniest,  daintiest  purse  Jacob's  eyes 
had  ever  beheld,  and,  opening  its  clasp,  gingerly  fingered 
forth  a  bill. 

"I  want  very  much  to  have  this  changed.  Mr.  Shaga- 
rach  will  not  be  back  immediately,  you  say?" 

"No'm." 

"Then  perhaps  you  can  spare  a  moment  to  run  down 
to  the  corner  and  get  some  silver  for  this." 

"They'll  change  it  upstairs,"  said  Jacob,  at  last  finding 
his  voice. 

"Upstairs?  Very  well,  you  make  take  it  upstairs  and 
bring  me  back  small  silver,  Jacob." 

With  a  skip  of  elation  Jacob  mounted  the  stairs.  There 
was  a  little  delay  in  the  mission,  to  which  he  had  repaired. 
When  he  came  downstairs,  the  silver  clutched  in  his  hand, 
his  heart  rose  to  his  mouth  at  discovering  that  the  office 
was  empty.  To  think  that  he  had  kept  the  kind  lady  wait- 
ing so  long!  Probably  she  had  become  disgusted  with 
him.  He  stood  a  moment  in  perplexity.  Then  glancing 
at  his  own  desk,  he  opened  his  mouth  in  horror. 

"My  pictures!"  cried  Jacob.  The  photographs  were 
gone. 

If  there  was  one  being  that  Jacob  reverenced  and  feared 


THE    INCENDIARY.  219 

it  was  his  master.  To  feel  now  that  he  had  betrayed  him 
at  the  prompting  of  a  grand  lady,  who  deceived  him  with 
honeyed  words  and  was  undoubtedly  one  of  his  master's 
enemies — 'how  could  he  ever  face  Shagarach  again? 

"My  pictures !"  he  cried  a  second  time,  running  into  the 
entry.  But  here  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  a  dubitation 
seized  him.  Shrill  and  re-echoing  through  the  narrow 
passage  came  the  flute-like  warble  which  Jacob  knew  only 
too  well.  It  was  the  precursor  of  torment  for  him.  True, 
the  Whistler  himself  had  almost  ceased  to  pick  on  the 
office  boy  and  even  taken  him  under  his  wing  of  late,  but 
Turkey  Fenton  and  Toot  Watts  were  as  implacable  as  in- 
quisitors turning  a  heretic  on  a  lukewarm  gridiron. 

Turkey's  tyranny  was  of  the  grosser  order,  as  became 
an  urchin  who  in  Jacob's  presence  had  swallowed  a  whole 
banana,  skin  and  all.  Toot's  nature  was  subtle  and  spi- 
derlike.  He  possessed  the  enviable  distinction  of  being 
able  to  wag  his  ears,  and  his  devices  of  torture  were  cor- 
respondingly refined  and  ingenious.  During  the  last  visit 
of  the  boys  he  had  played  a  small  mirror  into  Jacob's 
eyes  all  the  while  behind  Shagarach's  back,  and  it  wasn't 
until  they  were  going  out  that  Jacob  discovered  why  he 
had  been  dazzled  almost  to  blindness. 

If  he  took  the  stair  route  down  he  would  be  stopped 
and  teased  and  the  wicked  lady  would  get  away.  Perhaps 
she  was  already  gone — gone  with  the  photographs  which 
should  have  been  securely  locked  in  his  drawer.  Why 
had  he  ever  taken  them  out? 

The  emergency  was  desperate  and  Jacob  met  it  hero- 
ically. Rushing  to  Shagarach's  window,  he  saw  the 
grand  lady  just  crossing  the  sidewalk  and  waving  her 
parasol  to  the  coachman.  In  a  moment  she  would  be 
ensconced  on  the  cushions  within  and  the  disaster  would 
be  beyond  remedy.  The  window  was  open,  and  there 
was  a  little  piazza  outside.  Jacob  stepped  out  and  shout- 
ed. The  lady  looked  up  and  hastened  her  pace.  Leading 
down  to  the  first  story  from  the  piazza  was  a  flight  of 
steps,  and  from  the  first  story  down  to  within  twelve  feet 
of  the  ground,  another — an  old-fashioned  fire-escape. 


220  THE   INCENDIARY. 

Down  these  steps  Jacob  scrambled,  scratching  his 
hands  and  nearly  losing  his  balance,  to  the  first  piazza 
and  thence  to  the  lowermost  round,  where  the  awful  fall 
of  twelve  feet  checked  him.  But  the  sight  of  the  coach- 
man mounting  his  box  nerved  his  courage  and  he  re- 
leased his  hands.  For  a  moment  he  felt  dizzy.  But  the 
horses  were  already  started.  With  a  flying  leap  he  caught 
the  tailboard  in  his  hand,  and  after  being  dragged  along 
with  great  giraffe-like  bounds  for  nearly  a  block  man- 
aged to  draw  himself  up  to  something  like  a  sitting  posi- 
tion. 

There,  through  an  eye-shaped  dead-light  in  the  back 
of  the  carriage  he  obtained  a  dim  view  of  its  occupant. 
His  master's  stolen  pictures  were  in  her  hand.  What  was 
she  kissing  them  for — and  crying?  But  Jacob  was  deter- 
mined to  have  no  pity  upon  her.  He  had  just  resolved  to 
call  out  and  demand  her  attention,  when  the  crack  of  a 
lash  made  him  turn  and  his  lip  began  to  tingle.  The 
coachman  had  discovered  his  unlawful  presence  on  the 
tailboard  and  had  reached  him  with  just  the  tip  end  of 
his  whip. 

Probably  he  had  meant  only  to  frighten  the  lad.  If 
so,  he  had  thoroughly  succeeded.  Again  the  whip  curled 
backward  over  the  coachman's  shoulder  and  snapped  like 
a  pistol  shot  close  to  Jacob's  ear.  To  add  to  his  dis- 
comfort a  great  St.  Bernard,  which  had  been  running 
under  the  carriage,  had  become  aware  of  his  intrusion, 
and  began  rearing  at  him  in  a  manner  more  alarming 
than  dangerous,  to  be  sure,  but  sufficient  to  make  a  peace- 
able lad  tremble.  Between  the  whip  and  the  dog's  teeth 
his  ride  had  begun  to  be  worse  torture  than  the  gantlet 
of  the  stairway,  flanked  by  the  three  gamins,  would  have 
been,  when  the  ordeal  was  brought  to  a  sudden  end  by  the 
stopping  of  the  carriage  at  a  great  brick  railroad  sta- 
tion. 

Jacob's  time  had  come.  Disregarding  the  St.  Bernard, 
he  jumped  down  and  stood  on  the  sidewalk.  The  dog 
growled  and  the  coachman  spoke  to  him  roughly  as  he 
opened  the  door  with  practiced  alacrity  for  his  mistress. 
But  Jacob  was  now  within  his  legal  rights. 


THE   INCENDIARY.  221 

"I  want  my  pictures,"  he  said,  catching  the  grand  lady 
by  the  arm.  Mrs.  Arnold  looked  down  at  him  with 
amazement  not  unmingled  with  fear.  It  was  the  same 
stupid  little  boy  she  had  bribed  to  go  upstairs  in  the  office 
where  Harry's  photographs  had  been  lying — for  no  good 
purpose,  her  instincts  told  her. 

"What  does  this  little  ragamuffin  say?"  she  asked. 

"I  want  my  photographs/'  said  Jacob,  doggedly,  as  the 
coachman  shoved  him  aside.  He  ran  after  Mrs.  Arnold, 
the  tears  in  his  eyes,  and  clung  to  her  dress.  A  scene 
was  imminent.  The  policeman  approached,  doubtless  to 
render  assistance  to  the  lady  in  distress.  But  Mrs.  Ar- 
nold did  not  desire  his  assistance  just  then.  With  a  quick 
motion  she  removed  a  parcel  from  her  pocket  and  placed 
it  in  Jacob's  hands. 

"Take  back  your  things,  then,  and  don't  bother  me," 
she  said,  with  a  flushed  face. 

Jacob  gloated  on  his  recovered  treasures.  Then  his 
hands  likewise  sought  his  trousers  pocket,  and  he  jingled 
a  handful  of  silver  into  Mrs.  Arnold's  hand. 

"Take  the  money,  Joseph,"  she  said  to  the  coachman. 
"These  small  storekeepers  are  so  ill-mannered." 

The  policeman  gave  Jacob  a  hard  look  as  he  passed 
him,  but  the  office  boy  was  obliviously  counting  his  pict- 
ures. 

When  he  returned  to  the  office  the  gamins  were  gone 
and  Aronson  was  there  alone.  To  Aronson's  ques- 
tion where  he  had  been,  Jacob,  not  being  an  imag- 
inative boy,  gave  an  answer  which  was  strictly  truthful, 
whereupon  Aronson,  not  being  a  humorous  young  man 
(for  such  are  always  grave),  laughed  immoderately,  and 
proposed  that  the  fire  escape  henceforth  be  known  as  Ja- 
cob's ladder. 


222  THE   INCENDIARY. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

CUPID  TAKES  AIM. 

"M'other,  my  friend,  Miss  March." 

Mrs.  Arnold  came  forward  on  the  rose-embroidered 
veranda.  An  old  look  crept  into  her  face.  Her  brow 
darkened.  Her  heart  froze.  But  love  conquered  jeal- 
ousy, and  for  Harry's  sake  she  took  both  hands  of  the 
young  woman  whom  she  knew  he  loved,  and  smiled. 

"And  Mr.  Tristram  March." 

"Welcome  to  Hillsborough.  Will  you  not  come  in- 
side?" 

"Let's  sit  on  the  veranda,"  said  Harry,  throwing  him- 
self on  a  seat.  "It's  cooler  here." 

The  others  became  seated  and  submitted  their  fore- 
heads to  the  cool  caresses  of  the  breeze. 

"I  enjoy  your  road  from  the  station  so  much,  Mrs.  Ar- 
nold. It  winds  like  a  river  all  the  way,"  said  Tristram 
March. 

"A  narrow  river,  I  fear,  and  rough  in  parts,"  answered 
the  lady. 

"Do  you  know  I  like  a  soft  country  road.  It  seems 
padded  for  the  horse's  hoofs,"  said  Miss  March. 

"Rosalie  is  a  philanthropist,  you  know.  She  is  vice- 
president — one  of  the  vice-presidents — I  believe  there  are 
nineteen — of  the  ladies'  league  for  the  abolition  of  race 
dissension  in  the  south  by  the  universal  whitewashing  of 
negroes." 

"Mrs.  Arnold  knows  better  than  to  believe  that." 

"A  chimerical  plan,  I  should  call  it,"  said  Mrs.  Arnold. 

"Not  at  all,"  added  Tristram.  "Most  scientific.  The 
whitewash  is  indelible.  All  charity  fads  must  be  scientific 
nowadays." 

"Brother  Tristram  plays  the  cynic,  Mrs.  Arnold,"  said 
Rosalie.  "But  he  has  an  excellent  heart  of  his  own." 


THE   INCENDIARY.  223 

"It  is  a  burned-out  crater,"  said  Tristram,  solemnly,  at 
which  Harry  burst  into  a  laugh  and  the  sister  smiled. 

Watching  her  furtively,  Mrs.  Arnold  saw  that  she  was 
as  exquisite  a  masterpiece  as  nature  had  ever  put  forth. 
Her  figure  was  virginal  and  full;  her  manner,  auroral; 
her  age,  Hebe's,  the  imperceptible  poise  of  the  ascending 
ball  before  it  begins  to  descend,  which  in  woman  is  earlier 
by  a  decade  than  in  man;  her  coloring,  a  mixture  of  the 
wild  rose  and  gold.  Art  seconded  nature;  she  was  fault- 
lessly dressed.  In  that  instant  of  inspection  the  mother 
knew  that  her  son's  heart  had  been  weaned  from  her  for- 
ever. She  had  always  felt  that  it  would  be  a  blonde 
woman.  Are  they  charged  with  opposite  magnetisms 
from  northern  and  southern  poles,  that  they  attract  each 
other  so,  the  dark  type  and  the  fair? 

"Will  you  never  be  serious,  Tristram?"  cried  Rosalie. 

"Well,  dear,  the  crater  has  humming-birds'  nests  built 
along  its  inner  sides,  like  the  old  volcano  of  Chocorua, 
and  the  little  winged  jewels  flash  out  sometimes  and  land 
in  Sister  Rosalie's  lap." 

"What  is  this?" 

"You  prefer  rubies.  I  picked  those  up  at  a  sale  in 
the  city.  Did  you  ever  meet  such  stones — perfect 
bulbs?" 

"How  can  I  ever  rebuke  you  again?'' 

"Then  I  needn't  try  to  be  serious?" 

"Oh,  if  it's  a  bribe " 

"Look  at  the  name  on  the  plate  behind — 'Alice.' " 

"That  will  have  to  be  changed,"  said  Harry,  coming 
nearer  to  glance  at  the  brooch.  "Why!"  he  snatched  at 
the  jewels,  but  caught  himself  in  time.  His  mother 
looked  at  him  in  an  eloquent  appeal  for  silence. 

"Where  did  you  get  them?"  he  asked. 

"Rabofsky.  An  old  bric-a-brac  man.  Why,  do  you 
fancy  they're  stolen?" 

"Oh,  no.  I  congratulate  your  sister.  The  name  made 
me  start.  It  is  my  mother's,  you  know." 

"I  was  Alice  Brewster,"  said  Mrs.  Arnold. 


224  THE   INCENDIARY. 

"Speaking  of  philanthropists,  Rosalie,"  said  Tristram, 
to  change  the  subject,  "how  did  you  like  the  noble  Earl 
of  M'armouth?" 

"The  most  overbearing  person." 

"With  the  courtesy  of  a  snapping-turtle,"  said  Tris- 
tram. 

"And  the  humor  of  a.  comic  valentine,"  added  Harry. 

"Still  there  is  something  grand  about  the  title  of  earl," 
said  Mrs.  Arnold,  who  chose  to  forget  that  the  original 
Brewster  of  Lynn  was  a  yeoman. 

"Mme.  Violet  interested  me  more,"  said  Rosalie.  "Ru- 
mor is  linking  their  names,  you  know.  I  feel  that  she 
and  I  might  become  friends." 

"She  has  just  the  saving  spark  of  deviltry  that  you  lack, 
Rosalie." 

"It  isn't  every  brother  who  can  call  his  sister  an  angel 
so  happily,"  said  Mrs.  Arnold. 

"Nothing  was  farther  from  his  thoughts  than  to  com- 
pliment me,  Mrs.  Arnold.  You  should  hear  him  abuse 
me  in  private.  I  am  a  philistine,  a  prude.  But  I  grow 
accustomed  to  his  taunts/' 

"Dear  Rosalie,  you  are  only  not  esthetic  because  you 
are  so  divinely  moral.  Just  think,  she  objects  to  my 
marble  cupids,  that  they  are  not  ashamed  of  their  inno- 
cence." 

"Surely  that  is  going  far,"  interposed  Harry,  who  had 
long  been  silent.  "The  modeling  was  capital.  Most  lit- 
tle cupids  are  just  doughy  duplicates  of  each  other.  But 
yours  have  character — baby-face  wisdom — Puck  and 
Ariel  linking  arms." 

"Say  two  Pucks,  Harry,  or  Rosalie  will  moralize. 
Ariel  was  a  wicked  little  sprite.  He  used  to  go  on  bats." 

Rosalie  lifted  a  finger  of  reproof. 

"But  from  my  standpoint  a  dash  of  wickedness  is  just 
the  sine  qua  non  in  art.  How  fascinating  the  Inferno  is ! 
And  how  tame  the  Paradise!  In  art,  do  I  say?  In  relig- 
ion itself?  What  the  horizon  line  is  to  the  landscape — 
a  rare  pageant  you  have  before  you,  Mrs.  Arnold — such 
is  the  fall  in  the  garden  to  the  faith  of  our  fathers." 


THE    INCENDIARY.  225 

"Do  yon  mean  that  it  separates  earth  from  heaven?" 
laughed  Harry. 

"You  would  think,  to  hear  this  grumbler,  it  was  his 
strait-laced  sister  and  not  his  own  laziness  that  prevented 
him  from — "  Rosalie  hesitated. 

"From  amounting  to  something.  Say  it  out.  Ah, 
Rosalie,  you  have  indeed  achieved.  Your  Rosalind  is  di- 
vine, Carp  says — and  surely  Carp  knows." 

"And  Portia,"  added  Harry. 

"While  my  medallions " 

"Would  be  glorious  if  they  were  ever  finished.  But 
come,"  continued  Harry,  "I  must  dress  for  my  wager. 
Where's  Indigo?" 

"He  is  about  the  house,  Harry." 

"What  a  name!  Your  valet,  I  suppose?''  asked  Tris- 
tram. 

"And  secretary.    That  is,  he  answers  my  duns." 

"And  so  spares  you  the  blues?" 

"Punning  again,  Tristram,"  said  Rosalie.  "And  you 
profess  not  to  consider  word-plays  respectable." 

"Right,  always  right,  Rosalie.'' 

The  party  passed  inside,  and  the  Marches  were  escorted 
to  their  rooms,  while  Harry  went  in  quest  of  Indigo. 
When  he  returned  he  found  his  mother  alone  in  the  front 
room.  She  seemed  to  be  awaiting  him. 

"The  rubies,  mother?" 

"They  were  mine.  Sit  down,  Harry.  I  must  speak 
with  you." 

Her  manner  was  sad,  and  Harry  thought  in  the  strong 
light  her  face  looked  careworn. 

"We  are  very  much  pressed  for  money — temporarily, 
of  course.  As  soon  as  your  uncle's  estate  is  settled  our 
income  will  be  larger  than  ever;  and  even  without  that, 
Mr.  Hodgkins  has  hopes " 

"But  mother,  you  did  not  sell  the  rubies?" 

"I  have  sold  all  my  jewels,  Harry." 

Harry  stood  up.  His  mother  gave  him  a  long  look. 
She  had  made  this  sacrifice  for  him.  He  understood  and 
colored  when  he  remembered  the  fate  of  the  money  his 


226  THE   INCENDIARY. 

mother's  rubies  had  brought.  It  was  luck  alone  which 
had  saved  their  name  from  a  blot  on  the  evening  when 
McCausland  raided  the  Dove-Cote. 

"I  must  curtail  my  expenses/'  he  said,  rising  to  go. 

"There  is  another  matter,  Harry,"  said  his  mother,  still 
sadly  but  gently.  "I  saw  Mr.  McCausland  in  town  to- 
day. He  desires  you  to  testify  at  your  cousin's  trial." 

"Testify  against  Bob!" 

"It  is  in  relation  to  the  will — the  disinheriting  of  your 
cousin." 

"Why,  he  admits  that  himself." 

"He  may  deny  it  if  his  conviction  hangs  upon  that 
point.  Mr.  McCausland  wishes  to  leave  no  weak  link  in 
the  chain." 

"Hang  it,  mother,  I  don't  want  to  be  mixed  up  in  it. 
Think  of  the  "looks." 

"All  he  wants  is  a  word.  You  heard  your  cousin  say 
he  was  disinherited  under  the  will." 

"Yes,  that  is — why,  of  course,  I  knew  it.  He  told  me 
at  the  jail  that  day." 

"Then  I  will  write  to  Mr.  McCausland  that  your  testi- 
mony covers  that  point " 

"No,  but  mother " 

Rosalie  March  re-entered  at  this  moment.  Her  first 
glance  was  toward  Harry  and  his  toward  her.  Their 
thoughts  had  been  traveling  the  same  route  and  meeting 
half-way  all  during  the  talk  on  the  veranda,  when 
Harry  was  so  unwontedly  silent.  Alas2  he  knew  well  that 
he  was  unfit  even  to  look  at  her. 

In  their  outward  demeanor  to  each  other  he  was  em- 
barrassed and  she  reserved.  The  religious  difference 
seemed  likely  to  be  permanent.  For  Rosalie  was  a  Cath- 
olic, the  daughter  of  an  eminent  Maryland  family,  as  his- 
toric and  proud  as  the  Brewsters  and  more  wealthy  than 
even  the  Arnolds.  But  this  barrier  between  them  only 
acted  with  the  charm  of  a  material  fence  over  which  or 
through  which  a  rustic  couple  are  plighting  forbidden 
troth. 

"All  ready  to  win  my  wager,"  cried  Tristram,  following 


THE   INCENDIARY.  227 

his  sister  in.  He,  also,  had  changed  his  attire,  and  looked 
very  handsome  in  his  curling  Vandyke  beard  of  the  cut 
which  artists  affect. 

"What  wager  is  that?"  asked  Mrs.  Arnold. 

"We  passed  the  river  coming  down,  and  I  offered  to 
canoe  the  rapids." 

"And  the  river  so  low,  Harry.     It  is  rash." 

"Would  you  have  them  set  me  down  a  boaster?"  Harry 
was  eager  now.  His  mother  knew  "them"  meant  "her," 
and  her  heart  yearned  more  and  more  to  the  son  who  was 
drifting  away. 

"Indigo!"  he  cried  out  the  window  to  his  valet. 

"But  the  danger — was  it  not  there  the  canoeist  was 
drowned  last  year?"  said  his  mother,  anxiously. 

"Hang  the  danger!  It's  the  prospect  of  scraping  the 
bottom  off  my  new  canoe  that  troubles  me." 

"Old  age  is  privileged  to  prate,  I  suppose,"  said  Mrs. 
Arnold,  feebly  attempting  to  smile. 

"Cut  the  fingers  off  that  lemon-colored  mitten,  Indigo, 
and  get  me  some  salve  double  quick.  My  oar  blister's 
worse  than  ever." 

Indigo  sped  up  stairs  for  the  scissors,  and  the  party  was 
soon  on  its  way. 

At  the  bridge  Harry  left  them,  proceeding  alone  to  the 
boat-house,  up-stream,  while  Indigo  led  the  others  to  a 
rock  below  the  rapids,  where  they  were  to  witness  the 
feat.  To  look  at  the  long  slope,  nowhere  steep,  but  white 
from  end  to  end  with  foam,  it  did  seem  incredible  that  any 
craft  could  live  through  such  a  surge.  The  murmur  was 
audible  far  away  in  the  still  countryside,  and  the  air,  even 
where  the  three  onlookers  stood,  was  moist  with  impalpa- 
ble spray. 

"Looks  as  though  that  wager  was  mine,"  said  Tristram. 
"He  might  as  well  try  to  swim  Niagara." 

"Ought  we  not  to  have  a  rope  hi  case  of  accident?" 
said  Mrs.  Arnold. 

"By  all  means,"  cried  Rosalie,  and  for  an  instant  the 
two  women  were  one  in  sympathy. 

"Indigo,"   said   Mrs.    Arnold,   "go   over  to    Farmer 


228  THE  INCENDIARY. 

Hedge's  and  procure  a  stout  rope.  If  anything  should 
happen " 

"Nothing  will  happen,"  said  Indigo.  But  he  obeyed 
her  command,  and  departed  in  the  direction  of  the  near- 
est farmhouse.  The  moments  were  long  drawn  out  with 
anxiety  before  he  returned,  until  at  last  even  Tristram's 
sallies  could  not  draw  a  smile  from  the  two  ladies.  So 
he  coolly  took  out  a  pad  of  white  paper,  sharpened  his 
pencil  and  sketched  off  the  rapids. 

"There  he  comes,"  cried  Rosalie,  peering  up-stream. 

"Harry!"  murmured  Mrs.  Arnold,  as  her  son  rounded 
a  bend  of  the  river  into  view.  Already  he  was  coasting 
down  without  using  his  paddle.  His  brown  arms  rested 
on  the  handle  before  him  and  his  muscles,  seemingly  re- 
laxed, were  tense  for  exertion. 

A  great  log  which  had  preceded  him  down  had  been 
whirled  around  like  a  chip  and  finally  submerged,  reap- 
pearing only  in  the  clear  water  forty  yards  beyond.  A 
similar  fate  surely  awaited  the  light  cockleshell  which 
bore  the  beloved  life. 

As  his  canoe  half-turned,  Harry  pushed  his  paddle  into 
the  water.  Evidently  it  met  a  rock,  for  the  prow  righted 
at  once  and  swept  down  a  narrow  channel  where  the  rush 
was  swiftest,  but  the  foam  seemed  parted  in  two.  Here 
again  it  caught,  poised  and  spun  around.  It  was  fast  on 
a  ledge,  and  the  young  athlete  was  straining  every  sinew 
to  push  it  off.  While  he  was  struggling  in  this  peril,  In- 
digo came  down,  staggering  under  a  coil  of  thick  rope. 

"Indigo,"  said  Mrs.  Arnold,  excitedly,  "throw  him  the 
rope." 

Indigo  stood  on  the  bank,  but  instead  of  obeying,  ran 
farther  down  to  a  rock  that  jutted  over  the  clear  water 
where  the  rapids  ended.  On  his  way  he  heard  the  ladies 
shrieking. 

"His  oar  is  broken." 

"But  he  has  worked  himself  free,"  said  Tristram,  non- 
chalantly sketching.  "He  will  win,  confound  it!  Yet 
it's  worth  losing  once  to  see  that  play  of  his  right  del- 
toid." 


THE   INCENDIARY.  229 

Harry's  paddle  had  indeed  broken  in  the  last  success- 
ful shove,  but  it  was  a  double  blade,  and  the  half  in  his 
hand  was  used  to  good  advantage.  As  he  came  sweep- 
ing down,  his  eyes  Intent  on  the  prow  before  him,  Tris- 
tram raised  his  hat  and  the  ladies  leaned  forward,  waving 
their  kerchiefs.  Harry  answered  their  salute  by  standing 

up  in  the  boat.     It  was  a  superb  piece  of  bravado. 
******'***       **# 

"He  doesn't  always  wear  a  glove  canoeing?"  asked 
Mrs.  Arnold  of  Indigo.  Harry  had  just  put  ashore  an 
eighth  of  a  mile  down  stream. 

"No,  the  mate  to  that  one's  lost,"  replied  the  valet,  "and 
Mr.  Harry  told  me  to  cut  it  up  for  his  hand." 

"When  lost  and  where?"  said  Rosalie. 

"I  don't  know  that." 

"Let  me  tell  you." 

"What  a  sibyl!"  exclaimed  brother  Tristram. 

"It  was  on  Broad  street,  the  afternoon  of  the  fire. 
Don't  you  remember,  when  we  saw  him  crossing  the 
street  so  hurriedly  and  I  remarked  he  had  only  one 
glove  on." 

"You  must  be  mistaken,"  said  Mrs.  Arnold.  "Harry 
was  ill  at  home  all  that  day." 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

MATER  DOLOROSA. 

Honora  Riley,  who  washed  for  Mrs.  Barlow,  lived  in 
a  ramshackle,  desolate  district  of  the  city  which  was  ap- 
propriately known  as  "the  Barrens."  Colliers,  sooty  to 
the  eyerims,  trudging  home;  ashy  dump-pickers;  women 
cowled  in  drab  shawls  from  beneath  whose  folds  peeped 
pitchers  brimmed  with  foam  like  the  whipped  surface 
of  the  milk  pail,  but  the  liquor  was  not  milk;  such  were 
the  sights  Emily  noticed  when  she  called  at  Mrs.  Riley's 


230  THE  INCENDIARY. 

to  inquire  whether  it  was  a  spell  of  illness  that  had  pre- 
vented her  from  coming  to  wash  that  Monday. 

"Come  in,"  a  feeble  voice  answered  her  knock.  "Oh, 
is  it  you,  Miss  Barlow?" 

Emily  saw  that  the  supper  on  the  table,  laid  for  two, 
was  untasted,  and  that  the  eyes  of  the  woman  who  sat 
on  the  chair  clasping  her  knees  before  her,  were  red. 

"We  thought  you  might  be  ill,  Mrs.  Riley,"  she  said. 

"It  is  heartsick  I  am,  and  too  broken-hearted  to  work, 
dear.  Land  knows  I  have  good  reason  or  I  wouldn't 
fail  your  mother.'' 

"It  isn't  the  pneumonia  again,  I  hope." 

"Shame  and  loneliness  have  come  upon  me  in  my  old 
age,"  said  Mrs.  Riley,  wiping  her  tears  with  the  corner 
of  her  tidy  apron.  "They've  taken  Walter  away." 

"Who  took  him  away?" 

"The  officer  came  with  a  warrant  this  morning — and 
he  my  only  child,  and  the  kindest  boy  to  his  mother,  with 
no  harm  or  wickedness  in  him  at  all,  at  all." 

Walter  was  Mrs.  Riley's  only  child,  the  last  of  seven. 
All  the  others  had  preceded  their  father  to  the  grave, 
narrowing  the  resources  of  the  little  family  with  contin- 
ual illnesses  and  funerals.  Finally  her  husband  himself, 
an  honest  roofer,  had  been  fatally  injured  in  a  fall  and 
had  passed  away,  kissing  the  six-months'  infant  who 
would  never  know  a  father.  This  was  long  ago.  For 
this  child  the  good  mother  had  provided  by  her  willing 
labor,  and  he  had  grown  to  be  her  pride  and  hope,  a 
promising  boy  of  14. 

"  'It  was  a  bicycle  he  stole,'  said  the  officer,  'away  out 
in  the  country.'  'But  I  never  meant  to  steal  it,  mother,' 
says  Walter,  and  the  boy  was  that  truthful  he  never  lied 
to  a  soul  that  breathes.  'I  never  meant  to  steal  it,  moth- 
er/ he  says,"  repeated  Mrs.  Riley  softly,  her  grief  over- 
mastering her. 

"Did  you  say  Walter  stole  a  bicycle?"  asked  Emily,  a 
vague  reminiscence  coming  back  to  her. 

"It  was  the  bad  company  I  warned  him  against,  espe- 
cially that  Fenton  boy  and  Mrs.  Watts'  little  imp  that 


THE   INCENDIARY.  231 

has  more  tricks  in  him  than  a  monkey.  'Keep  away  from 
them,  Walter,'  says  I,  but  no,  he  would  choose  them  for 
companions.  And  'tis  old  Bagley,  the  junkman,  I  blame 
most  of  all.  Upon  my  word,  I  believe  he  put  them  up 
to  the  trick.  What  would  three  little  boys  travel  out  to 
the  country  like  that  for,  and  ride  away  on  three  bicycles 
and  then  sell  them  to  Bagley?" 

"Walter  sold  it,  then?"  said  Emily,  thoughtfully. 

"Indeed,  Walter  did  not.  'Mine  is  safe  and  sound  in 
the  club-room,'  says  he;  that's  Lanty  Lonergan's  back 
kitchen  he  lets  them  use  for  a  meeting  place.  'It's  in  the 
club-room,'  says  Walter,  'and  I  wouldn't  sell  it,  mother, 
but  I  was  afraid  to  give  it  back;  only  I  never  meant  to 
steal  it.' " 

"That  I  believe,  Mrs.  Riley,  for  I  saw  him  take  that  bi- 
cycle." 

Mrs.  Riley's  tears  stopped  flowing  for  a  moment  in 
her  surprise.  Then  Emily  related  the  story  of  her  trip 
to  Hillsboro  and  the  conversation  of  the  boys  which  she 
had  overheard,  not  forgetting  to  explain  her  own  share 
in  frightening  them  away. 

"So  perhaps  by  my  officiousness  I  converted  an  inno- 
cent prank  into  something  more  serious,''  she  concluded. 

"If  it  was  the  price  of  it  only,  I'd  give  double  that,  and 
land  knows  I've  no  stockingful,  like  some  that  go  to  the 
city  for  help,  for  I'd  rather  rub  my  knuckles  off  than  beg,'' 
said  the  good  woman. 

There  was  a  piece  of  old  carpet  stuffed  in  one  window- 
pane,  adequate  in  summer,  no  doubt,  but  hardly  impreg- 
nable to  the  winter  winds — and  Emily  judged  from  the 
table  before  her  that  more  than  once  the  mother  and  son 
had  sat  down  to  a  Barmecide  feast,  in  which  the  imagi- 
nation had  to  be  called  on  to  help  appease  the  palate. 
So  it  was  by  inheritance  that  the  Whistler  came  by  his 
aversion  to  Shagarach's  charity. 

"I  think  it  strange  Walter  and  I  have  never  become 
acquainted.'' 

"Indeed  he  knows  all  your  goodness  to  me." 

"Is  he  still  at  school?" 


232  THE   INCENDIARY. 

"Graduated  this  year,  and  his  masters  recommend  him 
for  the  best-tempered  boy  and  as  innocent — but  full  of 
the  old  Harry,  like  his  father,  that  would  always  be  danc- 
ing, even  with  seven  children  between  him  and  his 
youth." 

"What  a  pity  if  he  should  turn  out  bad  now  after  you've 
made  so  many  sacrifices  for  him." 

"Oh,  for  the  sacrifices,  Walter's  willing  to  take  his 
share.  With  his  paper  route  he  would  bring  me  in  some- 
times $2  a  week,  and  there  was  nothing  he  wouldn't  do, 
distribute  handbills,  deliver  baskets  in  the  meat-market  on 
Saturday  nights.  Look,  here's  the  shoeblack's  kit  he  just 
bought.  Come  in,  Miss  Barlow." 

Emily  entered  the  small  side  room  which  completed 
Mrs.  Riley's  suite. 

"There's  the  blacking-box.  Bought  it  himself  with  his 
own  savings." 

"But  he  was  too  changeable.  I  should  think  he  would 
have  done  better  to  stick  to  one  thing." 

"That's  what  I  told  him.  But  you  know  how  a  boy 
is  fickle-minded.  'Get  me  something  good,  mother,'  says 
he.  There's  the  little  cradle  I  rocked  him  in  that  I  kept 
all  these  years — "  Emily  herself  could  hardly  check 
her  tears  at  thought  of  the  mother  rocking  this  empty 
memento. 

"His  Aunt  Mary  gave  it  to  me — not  that  we  couldn't 
afford  it — plenty  and  to  spare  I  had  when  my  husband 
was  alive,  but  it  wasn't  lucky  to  buy  a  cradle  for  your 
first  baby,  she  said,  and  so  I  rocked  them  all  in  hers,  and 
now  six  of  them  are  in  heaven  with  their  father,  God  ha' 
mercy,  and  Walter,  all  that  was  left  me,  is  in  the  lockup 
this  night  with  the  bad  people.'' 

Walter's  little  room  was  bare  but  not  squalid.  A 
knockabout  suit  hung  on  pegs  at  one  side,  and  a  wash- 
bowl stood  on  a  cheap  commode,  like  a  prophecy  of 
cleanliness  in  the  occupant. 

"Don't  worry,  Mrs.  Riley.  Since  I  helped  Walter  into 
this  scrape,  I  am  bound  to  help  him  out  of  it." 

"Heaven  bless  you,  if  you  can  save  my  Walter — and 


THE   INCENDIARY.  233 

I  know  you  would  try  if  you  knew  him.  The  lovingest 
boy,  full  of  mischief  like  his  father,  but  he'd  give  the 
blood  out  of  his  heart  to  a  soul  in  trouble.  Oh,  well  I 
knew  he  had  something  on  his  mind  all  these  weeks. 
For  he  wouldn't  run  up  stairs  two  steps  at  a  time,  as  he 
used  to,  and  whistle  so  that  it  was  sweeter  and  louder 
than  a  cage  full  of  canaries.  When  I  heard  him  whistle 
low  I  knew  it  was  something  troubling  his  mind.  'Yes, 
mother,  it  is,'  says  he,  but  that  was  all  I  could  get  out 
of  him." 

"Suppose  I  bring  a  very  great  lawyer  to  be  his  coun- 
sel," said  Emily,  deeply  moved  by  the  lonely  mother's 
sorrow,  and  haunted,  too,  by  a  dim  remembrance  of  the 
central  face  among  the  three  gamins — a  frank  boy-face, 
with  red  lips  and  cheeks.  "Wouldn't  he  stand  a  better 
chance  of  getting  off?" 

"Just  as  you  say,  Miss  Barlow,"  answered  the  sad 
woman,  brightening  a  little. 

"He  is  very  busy,  but  I  feel  sure  that  he  will  attend 
to  this  if  I  ask  him.  I'll  see  him  to-night.  Don't  brood 
over  it  too  much  and  never  mind  about  the  washing.  I 
will  have  Mr.  Shagarach  call  at  the  station  and  talk  with 
Walter,  and  then  let  you  know.  'Good-night." 

"Good-night  and  bless  you,"  said  Mrs.  Riley,  holding 
the  little  candlestick  high  at  the  landing.  Emily  picked 
her  way  down  two  crazy  flights  of  stairs  and  a  doorway 
barred  with  sprawling  children  on  to  the  sidewalk. 
"While  we  wink,  the  lightning  may  have  flashed,"  was 
a  motto  she  had  copied  out  of  an  old  book  of  maxims 
and  embroidered  into  her  life;  so,  without  taking  time 
even  for  a  wink,  she  hailed  a  passing  car  that  would 
carry  her  near  Shagarach's  house. 

Not  all  that  Mrs.  Riley  had  said  of  her  boy,  the  Whis- 
tler, should  be  set  down  to  a  mother's  partiality.  Mis- 
chievous Walter  was,  if  the  unquenchable  avidity  for  ex- 
citement which  reigns  at  fourteen  entitles  a  boy  to  such  an 
aspersion.  The  five  hours'  rigid  confinement  at  a  school 
desk  especially  provoked  him  to  perpetual  fidget,  and  no 
teacher  had  yet  been  found  who  could  make  him  buckle 


234  THE  INCENDIARY. 

to  his  books  so  long.  Yet  he  was  a  favorite  with  one 
and  all,  less  because  of  his  deft  hand  at  the  drawing  lesson 
than  because  of  the  real  salubrity  of  his  nature,  which 
made  him  exceptional  among  the  slum  children  who  were 
his  fellow-pupils. 

To  these  very  schoolmates  Walter  figured  as  a  hero, 
an  Admirable  Crichton,  invincible  at  all  games  and  master 
of  most  things  worth  knowing  for  boys.  There  was  no 
swimmer  of  his  age  could  equal  him  in  grace  or  speed, 
and  his  dive  from  the  top  of  the  railroad  dock  was  famous 
in  local  annals.  So  was  his  successful  set-to  in  the  brew- 
ery yard  with  Lefty  Dinan,  the  Tenth  street  cock-of-the 
walk. 

Yet  for  all  his  proficiency  in  the  art  of  give,  take  and 
avoid,  Walter  was  the  least  combative  of  boys,  being, 
as  his  mother  said,  "loving''  in  disposition.  The  great 
gray  Percherons  with  shaggy  fetlocks,  that  drew  the  fire- 
engines,  knew  this,  and  admitted  him  to  a  brotherly  com- 
radeship, bowing  with  delight  when  he  patted  and  stroked 
them.  Mechanics  found  him  handy  beyond  his  years, 
and  often  employed  him  at  odd  jobs.  For  he  had  a  car- 
penter's eye  for  short  distances  and  a  surveyor's  for  long, 
and  there  was  no  tool  that  did  not  fit  his  fingers.  If  he 
had  run  away  to  join  the  circus  last  summer,  that  was 
not  the  unpardonable  sin. 

Shagarach  heard  Emily  gravely. 

"An  important  witness  for  our  cause,"  he  answered, 
when  she  had  finished.  "We  surely  cannot  suffer  him 
to  be  thrust  into  prison."  Emily  knew  that  it  was  un- 
necessary for  her  to  press  the  matter  further,  so  she  spent 
a  brief  evening  in  conversation  with  the  quaint,  affec- 
tionate mother,  rarely  alluding  to  the  Floyd  case  or  the 
mysterious  oaf  who  had  so  alarmed  her  in  that  oriental 
room. 

The  following  noon  she  ran  down  to  the  jail  to  see 
Robert,  half-expecting  to  hear  him  playing  the  violin 
which  she  had  sent  him  the  day  before.  Robert's  own 
Stradivarius,  with  all  his  other  personal  effects,  had  been 
destroyed  at  the  fire,  so  Emily,  having  begged  the  sher- 


THE   INCENDIARY.  235 

iff's  permission,  had  pinched  herself  to  buy  him  a  new 
one  as  richly  toned  as  her  slender  means  could  purchase. 
Her  own  instrument  was  the  piano,  whose  keys  turned 
to  silver  beneath  her  touch,  and  it  had  been  in  the  en- 
semble classes  of  the  conservatory  that  she  and  Robert 
(through  Beulah  Ware)  first  met.  When  Dr.  Silsby,  the 
botanist,  who  had  just  come  home  from  the  west,  called 
yesterday,  she  had  insisted  on  his  taking  the  violin  to 
Robert,  without  betraying  the  giver's  name.  However, 
Robert's  corridor  (murderers'  row,  the  name  made  her 
indignant)  was  silent  when  she  approached  it,  and  she 
searched  his  cell  vainly  for  a  violin  box. 

"Dr.  Silsby  has  been  to  see  you,  Robert?"  she  asked, 
after  the  greetings  due  from  sweetheart  to  sweetheart. 

"He  came  in  yesterday  to  cheer  me." 

"His  usual  method  of  cheering,  I  suppose." 

"Oh,  yes,  said  he  had  never  expected  me  to  outlive 
uncle ;  I  always  acted  so  much  older  than  he  did,"  laughed 
Robert. 

"He  is  such  a  droll  tease,"  said  Emily,  who  never  could 
be  brought  to  admit  that  Robert  was  overserious  for 
his  years. 

"But  I  made  myself  even  with  him  before  he  went. 
He  promised  to  read  an  article  I  had  written  while  in 
prison,  and  took  the  manuscript  under  his  arm,  little  sus- 
pecting what  was  in  store  for  him.  You  know  how  he 
abhors  my  social  heresies." 

"And  the  article  was " 

"My  'Modest  Proposal  for  a  Consumers'  Trust,'  social- 
istic from  kappa  to  kappa.  How  Jonas  will  writhe !  The 
last  words  he  spoke  were  a  thrust  at  my  'fad.'  Yet  every 
letter-carrier  and  uniformed  employe  I  meet,"  added 
Robert,  returning  to  his  natural  gravity,  "contented  and 
useful,  convinces  me  more  and  more  that  the  world  is 
moving  toward  co-operation." 

"But  the  reading  will  be  torture  to  Dr.  Silsby." 

"It  ought  to  do  him  good.  How  hard  that  lumper 
works!"  Several  negroes  were  staggering  down  the  cor- 
ridor, shouldering  huge  sides  of  beef  for  the  jail  cuisine. 


236  THE   INCENDIARY. 

"And  in  fifty  offices  within  a  radius  of  a  mile  men  are 
receiving  large  salaries  for  dawdling  at  elegant  desks  two 
or  three  hours  a  day." 

"There  are  no  sinecures  at  $10  a  week,"  sighed  Emily, 
drawing  upon  experience  for  this  generalization.  "But 
did  Dr.  Silsby  have  nothing  with  him  when  he  called?" 

"I  believe  he  had — a  violin  box." 

"Just  so,"  said  a  cheerful  voice  behind  them;  "a  violin- 
box,  and  forgot  to  leave  it.  You  see  I  had  the  jacketing 
of  that  birch  tree  so  much  on  my  mind,"  it  was  Dr.  Silsby 
himself,  "everything  else  slipped  out.  You  remember 
my  speaking  of  the  birch  tree,  Rob?" 

"At  least  seven  times,"  answered  Robert. 

"Cruelty,  Miss  Barlow,  positive  cruelty.  That  fine  sil- 
ver-birch in  the  jailyard — you  saw  it,  I  suppose,  coming 
in — all  peeled  and  naked  from  the  ground  as  high  as  my 
reach.  Wanton  cruelty.  Think  of  the  winter  nights. 
It  will  die.  It  will  die." 

One  of  Jonas  Silsby's  eccentricities  was  his  keen  sym- 
pathy for  arboreal  life,  to  which  his  rugged  nature 
yearned  even  more  than  to  the  delicate  products  of  the 
flower  garden. 

"I  complained  to  the  sheriff.  There  ought  to  be  an 
ordinance  severely  punishing  the  barking  of  trees." 

"Don't  they  fine  the  boys  who  mutilate  foliage  in  the 
parks?''  asked  Emily. 

"Fine!  Horsewhip  them!  Rattan  their  knuckles! 
I'd  teach  them  a  lesson  or  two!  The  young  barbarians! 
Well,  cut  it  short,  thinking  of  the  trees,  I  forgot  your 
violin.  So  last  night  I  ordered  a  jacket  made,  good  can- 
vas cloth,  that'll  interest  you,  Rob,  if  you  haven't  for- 
gotten all  your  botany  in  your  wild " 

"How  did  you  like  my  essay,  Jonas?"  asked  Robert, 
mischievously. 

"Quackery!  A  poultice  to  cure  incurable  diseases. 
Bah!" 

"But  you  brought  the  violin  to-day?"  asked  Emily, 
smiling. 


THE   INCENDIARY.  237 

"Yes,  with  the  canvas  jacket.  You  see  it's  Miss  Bar- 
low's present " 

"What!"  cried  Robert. 

"There !  Thunder !  I've  let  it  out.  She  was  going  to 
blindfold  you  and  let  you  guess  the  giver." 

"And  the  violin  is  in  your  vest  pocket,  I  suppose?" 
asked  Emily,  innocently,  on  the  brink  of  a  peal  of  laugh- 
ter. 

"The  violin!  Jupiter!"  exclaimed  Dr.  Silsby,  thun- 
derstruck. "It's  a  box  of  bulbs.  I  thought  they  were 
rather  heavy." 

Emily  and  Robert  had  a  merry  time  over  the  botanist's 
absentmindedness,  but  he  insisted  that  the  original  fault 
lay  with  the  young  barbarians  who  had  upset  him  by  un- 
barking  the  birch  tree. 

There  was  little  news  to  exchange  except  the  arrest 
of  their  "important  witness,"  and  the  lunch  hour  at  best 
was  only  sixty  minutes  long,  so  Emily  was  soon  forced 
to  make  her  adieus  and  leave  Robert  with  his  second  best 
friend. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

EMILY  STRIKES  A  MATCH. 

Beulah  Ware  called  that  evening  to  talk  over  their 
plans  for  a  trip  to  the  provinces,  which  Dr.  Eustis,  the 
Barlows'  family  physician,  had  imperatively  ordered  for 
the  wasting  girl.  Could  he  have  looked  into  her  brain 
while  she  was  preparing  to  retire  in  her  chamber,  and 
seen  the  velocity  of  the  thoughts  which  were  coursing 
through  it  then,  he  would  surely  have  lengthened  the 
weeks  to  months. 

"Would  the  will  be  upheld?"  she  asked  herself.  Dr. 
Silsby's  oral  evidence  was  strong  in  its  favor  and  Shaga- 
rach  had  spoken  hopefully  of  late.  The  least  that  he 
could  expect  was  a  postponement  until  the  trial  was  con- 
cluded. Since  the  evening  she  spent  at  his  house,  the 


238  THE   INCENDIARY. 

lawyer  had  applied  himself,  if  possible,  more  sternly  than 
ever  to  the  case,  and  his  manner  was  more  than  ever  that 
of  a  man  repressing  all  lightness  of  spirit  to  make  room 
for  weighty  thoughts. 

What  a  mesh  they  were  all  entangled  in.  Shagarach 
as  well  as  Robert,  with  the  monster  reaching  again  and 
again  at  his  life!  And  McCausland — she  hated  his  eter- 
nal smile.  As  if  this  business  of  life  or  death  were  a 
comedy  for  his  amusement  or  the  display  of  his  superfine 
powers.  She  had  begun  to  doubt  whether  their  triumph 
over  the  false  Bill  Dobbs  had  been  as  genuine  as  they 
first  supposed. 

"A  lie  will  travel  a  league  while  truth  is  putting  on  his 
boots,"  old  John  Davidson  had  said,  shaking  his  head, 
when  she  described  the  adventure  to  him.  And  the  re- 
sult had  proved  him  right.  Although  the  truth  leaked 
out,  the  original  impression  that  Robert  had  really 
broken  out  of  prison  was  never  quite  corrected,  and  of 
course  it  did  him  no  good  with  the  public. 

In  spite  of  herself,  Emily  could  not  help  feeling  that 
both  these  powerful  minds  were  overreaching  themselves 
by  their  very  fertility  and  keenness,  like  the  colossus  of 
old,  which  tumbled  by  its  own  huge  height.  For  the 
hundredth  time  she  set  their  theories  before  her,  trying 
to  imagine  how  a  jury  would  look  at  them. 

Her  rambling  drowse  naturally  brought  back  the  whole 
trip  to  Hillsborough-and  her  conversation  with  Bertha. 
She  tried  to  recall  every  word  that  the  housemaid  had 
uttered,  rendered  doubly  precious,  as  it  seemed  to  Emily, 
by  the  impossibility  of  consulting  her  again  until  the 
trial.  What  she  had  said  of  the  previous  fire  especially 
struck  Emily  now.  She  tried  to  form  a  vivid  picture  on 
the  curtain  of  darkness  which  surrounded  her  of  that 
fatal  study.  The  books  all  upright  on  their  shelves,  the 
canary  bird  singing,  the  waste-basket,  the  slippers  under 
the  arm-chair,  and  the  dressing-gown  thrown  over  it, 
the  dog — suddenly  Emily's  heart  stood  still.  She  started 
up  in  bed  and  sat  on  its  edge. 

A  minute  later  she  was  feeling  for  the  match-box.     As 


THE  INCENDIARY.  239 

she  stood  before  the  mirror,  her  image  came  out  slowly, 
slowly,  emerging  by  the  sulphurous  blue  flame.  Light- 
ing the  gas,  she  drew  the  curtains.  The  bark  of  a  watch- 
dog broke  the  silence,  or  the  footsteps  of  tardy  home- 
comers,  and  now  and  then  the  shrill,  faint  whistle  of  a 
distant  steamer,  ocean-bound.  But  her  ears  were  closed 
to  outer  impressions.  She  snatched  at  a  volume  of  the 
great  encyclopedia  which  she  kept  in  her  room,  and,  sit- 
ting on  the  bed,  laid  one  knee  across  its  fellow  for  a  book- 
rest.  In  this  posture  she  read  eagerly,  then  exchanged 
the  volume  for  another,  and  that  for  another,  until  she 
had  ranged  through  the  entire  set  and  peeped  at  every 
letter  from  Archimedes  to  Zero,  with  long  and  very  at- 
tentive stops  at  many  curious  headings.  It  was  after  i 
o'clock  when  she  turned  out  the  light  and  nearly  3  when 
her  brain  stopped  buzzing.  Next  morning  she  limped  in 
her  left  knee  where  the  heavy  encyclopedia  had  rested 
and  her  eyes  were  dull  at  their  work. 

The  idea  was  so  bold,  so  novel,  that  she  waited  a  day 
before  submitting  it  to  Shagarach.  Beulah  Ware  was 
her  first  confidant.  Beulah  took  it  up  enthusiastically, 
and  was  for  developing  it  farther  before  giving  it  out 
at  all.  But  Emily  judged  this  secrecy  unjust  to  her  law- 
yer, and,  besides,  was  eager  to  know  his  opinion.  He 
listened  with  interest  to  her  "maybes"  and  "might  bes" 
and  commented  in  his  usual  tone  of  conviction. 

"There  are  a  great  many  'ifs.'  You  depend  entirely 
upon  Bertha,  and  she  is  not  at  hand.  When  she  does  ap- 
pear it  will  be  so  late  that  you  will  have  little  time  to  work 
up  your  idea.  This  is  not  said  to  discourage  you;  only 
to  point  out  the  obstacles  you  must  surmount.  By  all 
means  follow  out  the  thought." 

This  was  not  the  worst  that  Emily  had  feared,  although 
she  understood  that  it  meant  "There  are  at  present  only 
two  theories,  McCausland's  and  mine.  Those  are  the 
horns  of  the  dilemma  between  which  the  jury  must 
choose."  Seeing  that  she  did  not  reply,  Shagarach 
turned  the  subject  toward  Walter  Riley's  case,  which  was 
more  serious  than  his  mother  knew. 


240  THE   INCENDIARY. 

The  robbery  of  the  bicycles  was  only  one  of  a  series 
of  thefts  which  had  been  traced  to  this  youthful  "gang." 
In  the  club-room  at  Lonergan's,  not  only  the  Whistler's 
bicycle,  which  he  had  refused  to  sell,  but  a  store  of  cigars, 
whisky,  cheap  jewelry  and  ladies'  pocketbooks  had  been 
found,  and  the  junkman,  Bagley,  was  under  arrest  for 
acting  as  a  "fence"  to  the  thieves. 

Walter  asserted  his  innocence  of  other  thefts,  and  also 
his  ignorance  of  all  the  articles  excepting  the  bicycle, 
which  they  had  urged  him  to  sell.  His  refusal  to  do  so  was 
corroborated  by  Turkey  and  Toot.  On  this  very  head 
he  had  had  a  falling  out  with  the  crowd  and  had  ceased 
to  visit  the  club-room,  but,  although  it  was  frequented  by 
as  many  as  twenty  youngsters,  some  of  them  half-grown 
men,  no  one  had  dared  to  heed  Bagley's  suggestion  and 
dispose  of  Walter's  abandoned  property. 

"Riley's  act  at  its  worst  was  no  more  serious  than 
breaking  a  window  or  plucking  pears  from  the  tree.  With 
your  help  he  may  get  clear  and  be  put  on  probation." 

"Oh,  must  I  testify?"  asked  Emily. 

"Next  Monday  the  case  will  be  heard.  You  can  be  of 
service  to  the  boy.  I  shall  recommend  short  terms  for 
Fenton  and  Watts.'' 

Emily  promised  to  be  present.  While  she  was  re- 
turning to  her  studio  old  John  Davidson  overtook  her 
in  his  carriage.  She  was  glad  to  meet  his  kindly  glance 
again  and  accept  his  proffered  seat,  especially  as  she 
espied  the  manikin,  Kennedy,  crossing  the  street  in  her 
direction.  It  was  only  a  few  blocks  to  her  destination,  but 
before  they  arrived  she  had  poured  out  her  new  theory  to 
the  marshal,  as  if  he  were  her  father. 

"Don't  you  think  it's  possible,  Mr.  Davidson?"  she 
appealed  to  him,  craving  a  morsel  of  sympathy. 

"Possible?  Of  course  it's  possible,"  he  answered 
cheerily;  "Fve  met  things  a  hundred  times  stranger  my- 
self." 

But  Emily's  heart  sunk  a  little,  for  she  saw  that  he  only 
spoke  so  out  of  kindness  and  that  he  did  not  really  be- 
lieve in  her  idea.  And  from  that  day  she  followed  Beulah 
Ware's  advice  and  hardly  mentioned  it,  except  to  Beulah. 


THE   INCENDIARY.  241 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

M'CAUSLAND'S   AMMUNITION. 

It  is  no  wonder  at  all  that  Emily  Barlow  should  have 
come  to  regard  Inspector  McCausland  as  the  villain  of 
the  drama  in  which  she  was  taking  a  part.  Although 
whenever  she  tried  to  formulate  his  theory  of  the  case 
it  seemed  to  her  too  frail  to  hang  a  kitten  by,  yet  she  had 
moments  of  doubt  in  which  his  great  reputation  and  clean 
record  of  victories  oppressed  and  appalled  her.  And 
these  moments  were  rendered  frequent  by  a  quality  which 
McCausland  seemed  to  possess  in  common  with  other 
satanic  characters,  his  ubiquity,  in  which  he  was  only  sur- 
passed by  Mr.  Arthur  Kennedy  Foxhall.  In  justice  to 
McCausland,  however,  it  should  be  stated  that  he  did  not 
make  a  practice,  as  the  manikin  did,  of  writing  bi-weekly 
billet-doux. 

The  first  time  the  detective's  shadow  fell  across  Emily's 
path — after  her  discovery  of  his  identity — was  on  one  of 
her  visits  to  Senda  Wesner.  Who  should  be  coming  out 
of  the  bakeshop  but  chubby  Richard  in  person?  His  bow 
was  gallant  and  his  smile  serene. 

"My  weekly  call,"  he  said,  stopping  to  chat  for  a  mo- 
ment. "A  sociable  little  magpie,  that  one,"  jerking  his 
thumb  toward  the  bakeshop  girl.  Emily  thought  this  un- 
complimentary. From  Miss  Wesner  she  gathered 
enough  to  lead  her  to  suspect  that  he  was  trying  to  con- 
nect the  peddler  in  the  green  cart,  who  was  certainly  no 
peddler  and  who  had  eluded  all  pursuit  thus  far,  with  the 
slamming  of  the  rear  door,  which  must  have  been  done 
by  some  one  else  than  Floyd. 

A  few  days  later  she  had  called  at  the  office  of  the 
Beacon,  the  newspaper  for  which  Robert  wrote  special 
articles,  to  obtain  some  papers  from  his  desk.  The  desk 
was  indeed  there,  but  all  its  drawers  had  been  removed 


242  THE   INCENDIARY. 

and  the  managing  editor  explained  that  they  might  be 
found  at  the  office  of  Inspector  McCausland. 

Twice  she  had  met  the  inspector  climbing  Shagarach's 
stairs,  but  passing  by  the  lawyer's  door  and  mounting  to 
the  top  story.  The  second  time  she  had  heard  his  voice 
in  conference  with  a  throaty  falsetto  she  thought  she 
knew,  and  the  black  mask  of  Pineapple  Jupiter,  appear- 
ing at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  confirmed  her  suspicions. 
Without  scruple  she  entered  the  mission  herself  one  day 
and  expended  all  her  arts  to  pump  the  old  negro.  The 
moment  McCausland's  name  was  introduced,  however, 
his  loquacity  was  checked  of  a  sudden,  then  took  dizzy 
flights  of  irrelevance. 

"Oh,  dese  chillun,  chillun,"  cried  Jupiter,  puttering 
away  at  a  broken  pane,  "dey  done  gone  break  my  win- 
ders." 

'The  stout,  ruddy  gentleman,  I  mean,"  persisted 
Emily,  but  Jupiter  was  so  absorbed  in  his  hymn  tune  that 
he  did  not  hear  her. 

Sharper  heads  than  Emily's  had  failed  to  force  Mc- 
Causland's hand  when  he  chose  to  shut  it  tight.  The 
newspaper  reporters,  whom  no  ordinary  walls  can  bar, 
had  bestirred  themselves  to  secure  for  an  inquisitive  pub- 
lic the  "new  evidence"  that  the  government  had  presented 
before  the  grand  jury  in  the  Floyd  case,  but  absolutely 
without  avail.  Where  such  experienced  allies  owned 
themselves  beaten,  the  gentle  maiden  might  surely  do 
so  without  dishonor. 

As  Shagarach  foretold,  Bertha  had  been  spirited  away. 
Mrs.  Christenson,  the  intelligence  offices,  the  Swedish 
consul,  the  Lutheran  pastor,  were  all  visited  and  re- 
visited by  Emily,  especially  since  the  new  inspiration 
seized  her,  but  none  of  them  knew  the  address  of  the 
housemaid  since  she  left  Hillsborough  that  morning  on 
an  outward-bound  train.  The  only  rumor  of  her  where- 
abouts was  that  vague  report,  coming  from  the  bakeshop 
girl,  which  Dr.  Silsby  had  set  out  to  investigate. 

With  regard  to  the  Arnolds'  coachman,  who  had  driven 
their  carriage  on  the  day  of  the  fire,  Emily  considered 


THE  INCENDIARY.  243 

Shagarach  to  be  curiously  indifferent.  He  had  promised 
to  subpoena  the  man  for  the  trial,  but  that  was  all.  Yet 
his  testimony  was  crucial,  since  he  must  know  whether 
Harry  was  with  his  mother  in  the  vehicle. 

This  was  a  peculiarity  of  Shagarach's,  in  which  he  dif- 
fered again  from  McCausland.  Though  he  prepared  his 
defense  with  consummate  painstaking,  when  it  came  his 
turn  to  prosecute  an  unwilling  witness,  he  seemed  satis- 
fied to  know  the  truth  in  his  own  mind,  relying  upon  his 
genius  to  extort  a  confession  during  the  cross-examina- 
tion. With  a  perjurer  before  him  he  wielded  the  lash  like 
a  slave-driver,  and  perhaps  he  was  justified  in  this  case 
in  omitting  a  rehearsal  which  would  only  put  the  Arnolds 
on  their  guard. 

But  Emily's  greatest  disappointment  came  in  what 
seemed  to  her  the  one  weak  point  of  Robert's  defense, 
the  axis  around  which  the  entire  prosecution  revolved. 
Time  and  again  she  had  conferred  with  Shagarach  on 
the  subject  of  her  lover's  reverie  after  the  deed.  To  think 
that  he  could  not  remember  a  face  he  had  seen,  an  inci- 
dent, a  word  spoken,  during  those  four  hours — nothing 
but  a  vague  itinerary  of  the  afternoon,  which  came  out 
with  difficulty  each  time,  and  the  course  of  his  own  medi- 
tations, which,  to  tell  the  truth,  was  clear  and  copious 
enough,  but  worthless  for  the  purpose. 

At  her  last  visit  to  the  lawyer's  home  he  had  entered 
into  this  more  deeply.  Apparently  the  method  of  attack- 
ing the  enigma,  which  he  had  hinted  at  possessing  from 
the  very  first,  was  now  ripened.  For  he  loaned  Emily  a 
ponderous  volume  on  "Diseases  of  the  Memory,"  and 
asked  her  to  bring  in  all  the  evidence  possible  showing 
the  mutual  affection  of  nephew  and  uncle,  not  failing  to 
wear  the  water  lily  from  time  to  time,  as  he  had  suggested 
before.  But  she  was  not  satisfied  with  this,  and,  knowing 
Robert  had  visited  the  park,  spent  one  whole  Sunday 
making  a  tour  of  that  district,  questioning  each  of  the 
gray-coated  policemen. 

At  last  she  had  found  an  officer  who  recollected  "some- 
thing of  such  a  young  man  as  she  described."  He 


244  THE  INCENDIARY. 

"couldn't  swear  to  it,"  but  "had  an  idea  he  noticed  him." 
In  fact,  his  recollection  grew  vaguer  and  vaguer  the  more 
they  tried  to  make  it  specific,  and  to  Emily's  chagrin, 
when  they  brought  him  to  the  jail,  he  asserted  positively 
that  Robert  was  not  the  man.  This  disappointment  was 
sharpened  tenfold  by  her  meeting  Inspector  McCausland, 
passing  out  of  the  corridor,  arm  in  arm  with  a  car  con- 
ductor. 

"I  am  certain  that  was  my  passenger,"  the  conductor 
was  saying.  To  have  her  own  failure  and  McCausland's 
success  thus  brought  into  contact  accentuated  both  and 
gave  Emily  a  miserable  day. 

The  case  of  the  old  chemist  was  not  so  bad,  and  be- 
sides, was  none  of  Emily's  doing.  John  Davidson,  the 
marshal,  had  taken  up  Shagarach's  theory  of  Harry  Ar- 
nold's guilt  with  remarkable  zeal  and  had  borrowed  one 
of  the  photographs,  so  as  to  see  if  he  could  be  of  use. 
One  day  he  came  in,  greatly  excited,  and  asked  for  the 
lawyer. 

"Got  some  evidence  that'll  surprise  you,  brother/'  said 
the  marshal. 

"Then  it  must  be  extraordinary,"  answered  Shagarach. 

"What  do  you  think  that  young  rascal  did?" 

"Who?" 

"Arnold.  Went  to  a  chemist,  a  friend  of  mine2  fellow- 
townsman,  too,  Phineas  Fowler,  and  bought  a  big  heap  of 
combustible  powder,  a  day  or  two  before  the  fire. 
Sprinkled  it  over  the  whole  room,  probably." 

"He  wasn't  so  foolish  as  to  leave  his  name,  however?" 

"Oh,  Phineas  knew  the  photograph.  Spotted  him  right 
away  when  I  fetched  her  out.  Lucky  I  took  it  now,  wan't 
it?  'That's  the  man,'  says  Phineas." 

"I  believe  I  have  your  friend's  address  already,''  said 
Shagarach,  and  in  two  or  three  days  he  was  paying  a 
long-delayed  visit  to  Phineas  Fowler. 

Amid  the  compound  odor  of  chemicals  sat  a  shriveled 
pantaloon,  with  a  long,  thin  beard  whose  two  forks  he 
kept  pulling  and  stroking.  Shagarach  was  about  to  state 


THE    INCENDIARY.  245 

his  business,  when  a  stranger  at  the  window  came  for- 
ward and  interrupted  him. 

"The  young  man  who  bought  the  combustion  powder 
was  identified  in  jail  yesterday,"  said  Inspector  McCaus- 
land,  smiling.  "It  was  only  Floyd,  on  that  matter  of  the 
bomb." 

That  matter  of  the  bomb !  Perhaps  it  would  be  harder 
to  explain  than  Emily  thought. 

But  McCausland  was  not  always  out  beating  the  bush 
for  evidence.  Occasionally  the  mountain  went  to  Ma- 
homet. The  reward  of  $5,000,  which  Harry  Arnold  had 
advertised,  drew  a  dribbling  stream  of  callers  to  the  in- 
spector's office.  There  was  the  veiled  lady,  who  had  seen 
the  crime  with  the  eyes  of  her  soul,  and  would  accept  a 
small  fee  for  a  clairvoyant  seance,  and  the  lady  with  green 
glasses,  whose  card  announced  her  as  "Phoebe  Isinglass, 
metaphysician."  The  moderation  of  her  terms  could  only 
be  accounted  for  by  her  scientific  interest  in  the  matter. 
She  asked  only  $1,000  if  she  proved  Floyd  insane,  $500 
if  she  proved  him  sane,  and  $100  (merely  as  a  compensa- 
tion for  her  time)  if  the  case  baffled  her  skill. 

Prof.  I.  Noah  Little,  the  conchologist,  paid  McCaus- 
land the  honor  of  a  call  and  even  brought  his  whelk-shell 
with  him.  With  this  occult  instrument  at  his  ear  he  had 
been  known  to  make  the  most  remarkable  prophecies, 
declaring  to  gullible  girls  the  names  of  their  future 
spouses,  and  even  portending  the  great  snowfall  of  May 
21  in  the  year  1880. 

As  for  suggestions  by  mail,  the  office  porter's  spine 
grew  bent  with  emptying  the  waste-basket  which  received 
them.  Hypnotism  was  the  favorite  explanation  with  a 
large  majority  of  the  correspondents,  followed  by  a  som- 
nambulism and  various  ingenious  theories  of  accident. 
The  pope  and  the  czar  were  named  as  authors,  and  the 
freemasons  were  accused  in  one  epistle  of  a  plot  to  burn 
up  the  ocean  with  some  diabolical  explosive,  to  procure 
which  they  had  all  sold  their  souls  to  the  devil,  though 
what  this  had  to  do  with  the  Floyd  case  was  a  greater 
mystery  than  the  fire  itself. 


246  THE   INCENDIARY. 

Out  of  all  this  chaff  the  inspector  sifted  a  solitary  grain. 
One  morning  he  was  joking  in  the  office  with  Hardy, 
Johnson  and  Smith,  three  of  his  brothers-in-buttons. 
Hardy  handled  sneak-thieves  and  shoplifters,  Johnson 
swindlers  of  a  higher  order,  such  as  confidence  men,  and 
Smith  the  gangs  of  forgers  and  counterfeiters.  They 
were  all,  like  McCausland,  common-looking  men.  This 
enabled  them  to  slouch  through  life  quietly,  taking  obser- 
vations by  the  way. 

"Well,  Dick,"  said  Johnson,  "I  hear  you've  been  ap- 
pointed confessor-general  to  Col.  Mainwaring's  sinners." 

This  was  received  with  a  hearty  laugh,  for  they  were 
a  jolly  four,  these  men  of  iron. 

"That  arson  case  is  a  puzzler,"  put  in  Smith.  "Why 
didn't  you  send  a  bottle  of  the  smoke  to  Sherlock 
Holmes?" 

"With  a  blank  label,"  added  Johnson,  "for  the  incen- 
diary's name." 

"Would  he  notice  such  an  A  B  C  riddle?"  laughed 
Hardy. 

"A  lady  for  Mr.  McCausland,"  announced  the  mulatto 
policeman,  and  the  brothers-in-buttons  quickly  found 
other  business. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

HONEY,  NOT  WITHOUT  STING. 

She  looked  so  timid  and  demure,  with  the  blue  straw 
bonnet  which  framed  her  sweet  face,  the  red  band  lettered 
in  gold,  "Salvation  Army." 

Eyes,  lifted  slowly,  of  deep,  dark  blue,  and  the  level 
brows  laid  over  them  for  a  foil.  Beautiful  eyes,  we  male 
observers  say  in  our  rough,  generic  fashion,  but  the  finer 
perception  of  our  sisters  discriminates  more  closely.  Not 
the  iris  alone  makes  the  beauty  of  eyes.  Lashes  long  and 
thick,  lids  of  bewitching  droop,  brows  penciled  in  the  bow 
curve,  any  of  these  may  be  the  true  feature  that  starts  our 


THE   INCENDIARY.  247 

exclamation  of  delight.  But  in  Miss  Serena  Lamb  (as 
the  girl  gave  her  name)  nearly  all  these  marks  were 
blended,  and  they  overhung  a  feature  which  used  to  be 
fashionable  and  is  still,  when  perfect,  divine — the  rosebud 
mouth. 

She  might  well  be  timid  in  those  surroundings — re- 
volvers and  handcuffs  to  right  of  her,  medals  and  canes 
to  left;  shutter-cutters,  winches,  chisels,  diamond  drills, 
skeleton  keys,  wax  molds,  jimmies,  screws,  in  the  glass 
case  in  front — an  elaborate  outfit  of  burglar's  tools,  the 
trophies  of  McCausland's  hunting  expeditions,  for  the 
inspector's  specialty  was  burglary.  On  one  side  the  por- 
trait of  the  true  Bill  Dobbs  looked  out  from  the  center  of 
a  congenial  group,  and  a  tiny  plush  case  kept  the  file 
made  from  a  watch-spring  with  which  the  famous  Barney 
Pease  had  cut  his  way  to  liberty.  All  this  was  formidable 
enough  in  itself,  to  say  nothing  of  the  huge  bloodhound 
that  lay  half-asleep,  with  his  jowl  on  the  hearthstone. 

"I  thought  I  ought  to  tell  you,"  said  Miss  Lamb, 
modestly,  "although  it  may  not  be  of  importance." 

"And  yet  it  may,"  said  the  inspector,  politely.  "We 
often  work  from  the  merest  trifles." 

"It  concerns  the  fire  in  Prof.  Arnold's  house." 

"Ah!" 

"You  know  our  labors  often  bring  sinners  back  to  the 
fold  and  many  of  them  insist  on  unburdening  their  past 
misdeeds  to  us.  It  is  very  distressing  to  hear,  but  it  seems 
to  ease  their  consciences." 

McCausland  mentally  registered  a  great  broad  mark 
in  her  favor.  She  had  not  begun  by  asking  for  the  re- 
ward. 

"One  day  a  young  convert  of  ours  came  to  my  house 
and  spent  an  hour  with  me.  We  sung  hymns  and  con- 
versed, and  I  truly  believe  he  has  heard  the  word. 
Hosanna!  Alleluia!" 

McCausland  fidgeted  a  little  at  these  transports,  but 
the  sweet  face  in  the  blue  bonnet  kept  him  respectful. 

"I  am  young,"  she  hardly  looked  18,  "but  I  strove 
earnestly  with  him  that  night.  Moved  by  the  spirit,  he 


248  THE  INCENDIARY. 

told  me  a  guilty  story,  which  I  put  aside  until  reading 
about  your  case  stirred  my  memory,  and  I  felt  in  duty 
bound  to  relate  it.  Alleluia!" 

"Proceed,  Miss  Lamb." 

"The  young  convert  had  been  in  his  early  days  a  lock- 
smith and  a  great  sinner  before  the  world.  One  day  a 
stranger  proposed  to  him  a  reward  if  he  should  enter  a 
certain  room  and  open  a  safe  which  it  contained.  The 
temptation  was  great  and  he  yielded,  for  he  was  poor  in 
the  riches  of  earth,  and  knew  not  then  of  the  treasures 
of  heaven.  Alleluia!  Praise! 

"Weakly  he  consented  to  accompany  the  stranger,  and 
on  a  certain  Sunday,  during  the  early  hours  of  evening, 
suffered  himself  to  be  led  into  the  room,  where  he  found 
himself  alone  with  the  stranger.  It  was  the  name  of  this 
man  and  the  description  he  gave  me  of  the  room  which 
led  me  afterward  to  think  that  his  action  might  have  a 
connection  with  your  case." 

"What  name?" 

"Robert  Floyd." 

McCausland  took  a  cigar  from  his  pocket  and  bit  off 
the  end. 

"And  how  did  he  describe  the  room?" 

"A  library,  he  said,  with  a  bird  cage  before  one  window 
and  a  desk  in  the  corner." 

"And  the  safe?" 

"He  could  not  open  it  at  first,  but  tried  again  and 
again.  Something  alarmed  them,  however,  or  so  I  gath- 
ered. For  you  must  know  his  accent  was  very  hard  to 
follow  and — and" — (Serena  blushed) — "he  was  very  much 
agitated  while  he  told  me.  But  I  gathered  that  they  were 
interrupted  and  put  off  their  wicked  work." 

"I  must  see  this  young  convert.  He  may  have  sinned 
to  good  purpose  that  time." 

"There  comes  the  strange  part  of  it.  Since  he  made 
the  confession  I  have  not  seen  him  again.  He  has  not 
come  to  our  meetings,  as  he  used.  Perhaps  he  has  fallen 
back  into  the  evil  ways  of  the  worldly  minded.  Perhaps 
the  wicked  ones  have  punished  him.'' 


THE   INCENDIARY.  249 

'The  description  is  certainly  similar/'  said  McCaus- 
land,  shutting  his  right  eye,  so  as  to  fix  more  keenly  on 
his  visitor's  face  the  other,  which  was  the  one  reputed 
microscopic  in  its  powers. 

"So  it  seemed  to  me,  reading  the  papers,  which  are  full 
of  profane  sayings,  alas!  But  where  sin  is  there  must  be 
the  workers  in  the  vineyard." 

"I  am  glad  you  read  them  and  you  did  well  to  come. 
But — do  you  know  the  convert's  name?  Without  some 
clew,  I  fear " 

The  young  girl  hesitated  awhile,  then  answered: 

"Aronson!" 

McCausland  started.    It  was  not  a  common  name. 

"A  young  man,  you  say?  And  spoke  with  an  ac- 
cent?" 

"Yes,  slightly." 

"Can  it  be  Shagarach's  man?''  said  McCausland  to  him- 
self, reaching  for  the  city  directory.  "There  was  some- 
thing shady  about  his  record."  Then  he  rung  a  bell. 

"Have  the  criminal  docket  looked  up  about  four  years 
ago  for  a  case  against  one  Aronson — larceny  of  an  over- 
coat, I  believe,"  he  said  to  the  mulatto  officer. 

"That  was  all,"  said  Miss  Lamb,  arising  to  go. 

"One  moment,"  said  McCausland,  running  his  fore- 
finger up  the  directory  page.  "Was  his  first  name  Saul?1' 

"I  don't  remember.    I  remember  very  little  about  him." 

"  'Saul  Aronson,  law  student.'  Let's  look  farther 
back,''  said  McCausland,  restoring  the  1895  volume  to 
the  shelf;  "'94,  '93,  '92,  '91,"  he  drew  out  the  last.  "It 
would  be  queer,"  he  said  to  himself,  "if  Floyd's  junior 
counsel  should  turn  out  to  be  an  accomplice." 

"Aronson,"  he  read  aloud.  "Isaac,  Jacob,  Marks — 
Saul!  'Saul  Aronson,  locksmith'!'' 


250  THE   INCENDIARY. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

A  BACK-STITCH. 

This  was  how  Aronson  made  the  acquaintance  of 
Serena  Lamb.  One  day  there  resounded  through  the 
Ghetto  (where  Aronson  lived)  the  pounding  of  a  violent 
drum.  Turn,  turn,  turn!  Turn,  turn,  turn!  Tumtyty, 
Tumtyty!  Turn,  turn,  turn!  And  every  now  and  then  its 
bass  companion  marked  the  ictuses  with  a  cavernous 
"Boom!"  Then  Moses  and  Samuel  ceased  their  buying 
and  selling  for  a  few  moments  and  the  coats,  vests  and 
trousers  which  draped  their  window-fronts  swung  idly 
in  the  wind.  And  the  little  Samuels  swarmed  from  their 
hiding-places  till  both  curbstones  were  fringed  two  deep 
with  humanity,  eying  the  musical  invaders.  For  the 
notes  of  the  bugle  burst  out  after  this  percussion  prelude 
and  a  mixed  choir  of  voices  lifted  a  strange  refrain. 

Motley  singers  they  were !  Shabbily  dressed  men,  with 
exaltation  in  their  faces,  and  women  of  all  ages  and  types, 
uniform  only  in  their  costumes.  Raising  the  song,  they 
clapped  their  hands  together,  like  bacchants  or  chory- 
bantes  dashing  cymbal  on  cymbal  in  the  ecstasy  of  the 
dance.  But  such  bacchants !  Bacchants  in  blue  bonnets, 
like  grandmother's  sundown!  Bacchants  with  pure  faces 
of  undefiled  girlhood!  Bacchants  with  crone-faces  all 
wrinkled  and  yellow!  And  away  at  the  rear,  chanting 
with  might  and  main,  though  bent  nearly  double  under 
the  bass-drum  which  rested  on  his  back,  proudly  marched 
Pineapple  Jupiter. 

Frowns  gathered  on  the  foreheads  of  Moses  and 
Samuel  when  the  import  of  this  procession  became  clear, 
and  many  a  portly  Rachel  clucked  warningly  to  her 
brood.  But  youth  is  frivolous  and  inquisitive  even  in 
Israel;  so  the  square  was  jammed  with  onlookers  when 
the  army  set  up  its  standard  in  the  very  heart  of  the 


THE   INCENDIARY.  251 

Ghetto.  True,  not  all  these'  were  children  of  the  tribe. 
The  slurred  consonants  of  the  Italian,  vainly  trying  to 
smooth  and  liquefy  our  rugged  tongue,  were  heard;  the 
muffled  nasals  of  the  Portuguese ;  the  virile  drawl  of  the 
Celt;  and  a  youthful  accent  which  seemed  to  be  a  result- 
ant of  all  this  polyglot  mixture.  And  to  these  others  also 
the  army  was  an  abomination  even  as  to  Samuel  and 
Moses. 

Therefore,  when  the  music  ceased  and  the  army  formed 
in  a  wide  ring  with  hands  joined  sisterly  and  brotherly,  a 
great  pandemonium  took  up  and  prolonged  the  last  note 
of  the  dying  bugle.  The  cock  crew,  the  cat  called  and  the 
bulldog  barked  at  these  devoted  soldiers.  But  they  only 
blessed  their  enemies  and  danced  round  and  round  as  if 
rejoicing  at  persecution.  Whereat  the  multitude  fringing 
their  circle  danced  with  them,  too,  and  staid  Saul  Aron- 
son,  who  was  passing,  found  himself  whirled  perforce  in 
a  maelstrom  of  larking  boys,  full-grown  hoodlums  and 
petticoated  hobbledehoys. 

When  the  first  sister  stepped  forth  to  give  her  "testi- 
mony" the  face  beneath  her  bonnet  compelled  silence. 
Her  voice  was  gentle,  her  figure  petite.  Her  eyebrows 
lay  across  her  forehead  straight  and  dark,  and  she  spoke 
from  a  rosebud  mouth.  No  wonder  the  nearest  onlookers 
leaned  forward  and  the  idlers  on  the  outskirts  inclined 
their  heads  to  one  side  and  hollowed  their  hands  at  their 
ears  so  as  to  catch  the  utterance  which  promised  so  fairly 
to  their  eyes. 

To  Saul  Aronson  it  was  a  vision  of  paradise.  The 
lashes  of  her  modestly  drooped  eyes  lay  in  dark  half- 
moons  on  her  cheek,  but  once  when  she  lifted  them  a 
blue  light  seemed  to  flash  down  into  his  very  heart;  and 
that  organ,  amorphous  before,  grew  suddenly  crystal — a 
great  blood-red  ruby  which  he  longed  to  lay  at  her  feet. 
This  was  what  she  said,  this  lily  of  the  morass: 

"I  give  thanks  to  the  Lord," — her  utterance  was  slow, 
her  shrill  voice  pierced  the  stillness,  "that  He  has  led  me 
away  from  my  sins." 

"Alleluia !"  murmured  the  chorus. 


252  THE   INCENDIARY. 

"That  He  has  poured  into  my  heart  the  grace  of  His 
love  and  made  manifest  the  wonder  of  His  works.  Are 
ye  weary,  sinners,  weary  of  the  way  ye  tread?  Oh,  come 
to  the  true  way,  where  ye  shall  find  life  and  light  and  joy 
and  peace,  as  I  have  found  it." 

"Bress  de  name  ob  de  Lord!"  said  Pineapple  Jupiter, 
loudly.  Whereat  several  tittered  and  a  discreet  sister 
whispered  "Hush!" 

"It  is  not  to-day  for  which  we  live  or  the  things  of 
to-day — not  for  bread,  or  for  gold,  or  for  fame,  which  are 
perishable  things.  Not  for  to-day  nor  for  to-morrow 
should  we  strive,  but  for  eternity !  Not  for  the  approval 
of  men,  but  of  Him  who  is  the  just  Judge  everlasting. 
Holy!  Holy!  Holy!" 

"Alleluia!"  murmured  the  chorus. 

"It  is  written  in  the  word,  which  cannot  lie,  that  the 
keys  of  the  kingdom  are  given  to  Peter.  Therefore,  when 
ye  go  forth  to  the  labor  of  your  days,  ask  yourselves  not 
what  will  men  say,  but  what  will  Peter  say  when  I  knock 
at  the  golden  door  for  admittance.  Will  he  welcome  me 
as  a  true  child  or  will  he  spurn  me  to  the  outer  darkness? 
Ask  yourselves  this,  oh,  sinners,  each  and  all.  What  will 
Peter  say,  Joseph?  What  will  Peter  say,  John?  What 
will  Peter  say,  Christian  soul?" 

This  conclusion  seemed  to  be  the  refrain  of  a  hymn 
which  the  circle  took  up: 

"What  will  Peter  say,  Christian  soul, 
When  the  last  great  trumpet  sounds?" 

The  trombone  here  drew  forth  a  sepulchral  note,  repre- 
senting, no  doubt,  the  trump  of  doom,  and  Saul  Aron- 
son  could  almost  feel  its  vibrations  in  the  earth  beneath 
him.  He  could  have  pummeled  the  irreverent  knot  of 
gamins  who  mimicked  it  grotesquely.  Such  courage, 
such  loveliness,  such  sincerity,  imposed  reverence  even 
for  opposite  opinions.  Never  before  had  he  seen  their 
performance  in  such  a  light  as  now.  For  performance  it 
was.  One  after  another  of  the  brethren  stepped  into  the 
circle  and  recited  "testimony"  to  the  jeering  crowd 


THE   INCENDIARY.  253 

around.  Each  testimony  was  followed  by  a  hymn,  in 
regular  alternation.  Not  even  the  curiosity  about  the 
different  sisters  and  brothers  could  prevent  this  evangel 
from  becoming  monotonous.  So  the  captain  varied  it 
with  more  and  more  ecstatic  exhibitions. 

"Volunteers  to  clap  hands !"  he  would  call  and  four  or 
five  brothers  jumped  into  the  middle,  clapping  hands  to 
the  verses  of  a  simple  hymn,  repeated  ten  or  fifteen  times. 
Brisker  and  brisker  the  tempo  became,  till  the  captain 
and  his  volunteers  found  themselves  galloping  around 
the  ring,  with  sweet  bonneted  faces  eagerly  chanting  their 
accompaniment.  Aronson  marveled  but  he  did  not 
sneer.  For  his  gaze  was  on  the  rosebud  mouth,  whose 
" Alleluias"  (adapted  from  his  own  liturgy,  he  knew) 
seemed  to  him  the  sweetest  music  mortal  throat  ever  gave 
forth,  the  distilled  honey  of  sound. 

After  more  than  an  hour  of  such  missionary  effort,  the 
captain  called  for  a  show  of  converts.  "Hands  up,  all 
that  have  the  love  of  the  Lord  in  their  hearts !" 

Two  seafaring  men  and  a  darky  had  the  courage  to 
show  their  palms,  and  they  were  standing  very  near  the 
circle. 

"How  many  souls  love  Jesus  who  died  on  the  cross?" 

Aronson,  still  at  his  post,  felt  a  traitorous  gladness 
when  a  dozen  more  of  the  crowd  gave  the  signal  of  as- 
sent. This  meager  harvest  of  souls  was  the  result  of  their 
labors.  Then  Pineapple  Jupiter  again  bent  his  back  un- 
der the  heavy  bass -drum,  and  the  army  reformed.  Tum- 
tyty,  turn!  Tumtyty,  turn!  Tumtyty,  tumtyty,  boom!  The 
ringing  bugle  revived  the  languishing  interest  of  the  mob. 
One  Jew  of  the  Jews  followed  the  music  for  nearly  a 
mile.  When  he  finally  fell  to  the  rear  the  rosebud  mouth 
was  still  singing: 

"What  will  Peter  say,  Christian  soul?" 

and  he  felt  as  if  a  great  light  had  come  to  him  and  then 
vanished  again,  leaving  a  deeper  darkness  than  ever. 

Next  morning  he  awoke  with  a  rapid  pulse.  "What 
will  Peter  say,  Aronson?"  he  asked  as  he  drew  on  his 


254  THE  INCENDIARY. 

garments,  and  when  he  sat  down  to  copy  a  brief  for 
Shagarach,  "What  will  Peter  say,  Aronson?''  the  ques- 
tion again  recurred.  Strangely  enough,  it  always  took 
the  clear,  shrill  accent  of  the  girl.  "What  will  Peter  say, 
Aronson?"  was  the  prayer  for  success  he  offered,  when 
a  week  later,  he  mustered  up  courage  to  cross  the  mis- 
sion threshold  and  ask  Jupiter  her  name. 

From  that  day  Saul  Aronson  was  an  altered  youth. 
The  least  beat  of  a  drum  in  the  Ghetto  found  him  ready 
to  quit  dinner  or  company  or  work  and  fly  out  of  the 
house  with  a  hasty  snatch  at  his  hat  in  the  entry. 

Sometimes  he  returned  with  a  rueful  look  and  then  his 
mother  knew  it  was  only  the  Garibaldi  guard  parading. 
But  at  other  times  it  was  a  subject  of  remark  how  long  he 
stayed  and  how  moody  he  returned. 

There  was  a  family  living  in  the  rear  of  the  Aronsons, 
with  a  divine  little  8-year-old  girl.  Saul  knew  she  was 
divine,  although  he  had  never  seen  anything  but  the  back 
of  her  head.  For  at  noontime  when  he  came  to  dinner, 
or  in  the  evening  when  he  returned  from  work,  she  would 
be  sitting  in  the  swing  her  father  had  built  for  her,  with 
her  back  toward  him — swinging,  singing,  in  blissful 
ignorance  of  the  eyes  that  doted  on  her  through  the  slats 
of  Saul  Aronson's  blinds.  She  had  one  song  of  "the 
Savior''  which  she  delighted  to  croon.  Her  voice  was  like 
that  of  a  fledgling  lark  and  her  carols  were  made  sweet 
with  little  improvised  turns  which  often  threatened  to 
fail  but  always  came  out  true — so  sure  was  the  child- 
singer's  instinct,  feeling  the  way  before  her.  Nothing  re- 
minded him  of  Serena  so  much  as  this  earthly  angel,  and 
he  loved  her  for  the  image  she  called  up. 

Serena  always  looked  at  him.  That  is  to  say,  her  blue 
eyes  pierced  him  through,  accused  him,  reproved  him, 
every  time  they  were  lifted  toward  the  onlookers.  But 
it  was  not  until  the  day  he  raised  his  hand  among  the 
converts  that  she  noted  down  his  face  for  remembrance. 
He  knew  its  features  were  not  fascinating,  especially  the 
red  mustache  that  bristled  out  horizontally  from  his  lips, 
with  the  ends  trimmed  off  as  clean  as  a  scrubbing-brush. 


THE   INCENDIARY.  255 

But  no  one  else,  he  felt  sure,  could  worship  her  with 
such  reverent  adoration;  and  now  she  had  deigned  to 
notice  him.  What  if  Simon  Rabofsky  scowled  at  his  rais- 
ing his  hand?  Not  "What  will  Simon  Rabofsky  say?'' 
but  "What  will  Peter  say,  Aronson?"  was  the  question  of 
questions.  But  I  fear  Peter  was  confused  somewhat 
oddly  in  Saul's  mind  with  the  possessor  of  a  certain  rose- 
bud mouth. 

One  night  Aronson  dreamed  of  Serena  Lamb  as  his 
bride  and  the  next  morning  announced  his  conversion  to 
Pineapple  Jupiter,  at  the  same  time  asking  for  an  intro- 
duction to  blue  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

A  RECANTATION. 

Saul  Aronson  was  not  the  only  person  who  found 
pleasure  in  the  company  of  Miss  Lamb.  There  were 
others,  with  eyes  not  glamoured  by  any  golden  mist  of 
love,  who  would  have  found  it  hard  to  select  an  adjective 
strong  enough  to  express  their  approbation  of  the  petite 
devotee.  About  a  year  before  she  had  come  down  from 
the  country  to  be  a  companion  to  her  aunt,  Mrs.  Wolfe, 
who  had  just  lost  her  husband. 

Mrs.  Wolfe  (according  to  neighbors'  gossip)  had  been 
no  more  than  a  moderately  loving  wife,  but  she  made  a 
devoted  widow.  She  had  the  waist  of  a  wasp  and  a 
temper  to  match  it.  Her  frame  was  angular,  and  her 
disposition,  too,  revealed  shoulder  blades  and  elbows.  If 
she  loved  anything  in  this  world  it  was  her  marbled  cat, 
which  was  hated  by  every  boarder  in  the  house,  and  a 
pariah  among  its  tribe.  From  constant  visiting  of  her 
husband's  grave  her  manners  had  assumed  a  cast  which 
would  have  been  appropriate  to  a  cemetery,  but  was  most 
depressing  in  everyday  converse.  Even  her  smile  had 
something  acrid  about  it,  like  a  shopworn  lemon,  and 


256  THE   INCENDIARY. 

the  acidity  of  her  scowl  would  have  reddened  blue  litmus 
paper. 

People  wondered  why  her  niece,  such  a  tender  little 
body,  should  be  doomed  to  the  martyrdom  of  waiting 
upon  "Old  Tabby  Wolfe  and  her  boarders."  Mrs.  Gub- 
bins,  who  was  the  landlady's  most  intimate  crony — 
probably  because  among  her  other  virtues  she  had  a  keen 
sense  of  the  doleful — spread  the  report  that  Serena  would 
inherit  her  aunt's  property,  and  that  her  own  mother,  Mrs. 
Wolfe's  sister,  had  had  an  eye  to  this  when  she  parted 
with  the  eldest  of  her  household.  However  that  might 
be,  the  girl  put  up  patiently  with  all  the  widow's  quirks 
and  oddities;  entered  into  religious  work  enthusiastically, 
and  in  six  months  had  rubbed  off  the  slight  rusticity  with 
which  eighteen  years  of  choring  on  a  farm,  before  she 
came  down  to  the  city,  had  touched  her  accent  and  man- 
ner. 

There  were  hardly  any  traces  of  kinship  between  aunt 
and  niece.  To  be  sure,  Serena  had  the  slenderest  slip  of  a 
waist  that  nature  ever  fashioned,  and  just  the  least  sug- 
gestion of  cheek  bones,  too,  which  were  not  at  all  dis- 
agreeable, however.  When  occasion  demanded,  she 
could  give  a  sharp  order,  much  as  she  may  have  rebuked 
Spot  and  Bossy  for  switching  when  she  milked  them  in 
the  cowshed  at  home.  But  to  the  boarders  these  bursts 
of  impatience  only  gave  their  sweet  waitress  a  piquancy 
like  the  tartness  of  the  full-ripe  strawberry. 

With  them  she  was  a  general  favorite.  They  used  to 
declare  that  she  put  yeast  in  their  beds,  for  they  were  like 
pans  of  dough,  feathery  and  white,  when  she  made  them 
of  a  morning;  and  Serena,  spinning  the  pie-plates  round, 
scalloping  the  edges  of  the  crust  with  a  four-tined  fork, 
or  knitting  in  the  sitting-room  from  a  ball  of  pink  yarn 
that  danced  on  the  carpet  as  she  unraveled  it,  was  a 
spectacle  of  domesticity  at  which  they  never  tired  of  gaz- 
ing. Yet  her  dignity,  which  was  far  beyond  her  years, 
prevented  their  making  her  a  plaything.  Though  cordial, 
she  was  very  reserved.  Young  ladies  called  her  set; 
young  men,  seraphic  but  cold. 


THE    INCENDIARY.  257 

You  may  imagine  how  Aronson's  heart  hopped  in  his 
bosom  when  Jupiter  presented  him  to  this  goddess. 

"I  have  seen  you  at  our  meetings,  Mr.  Aronson,"  she 
graciously  observed.  She  had  noticed  him,  then.  He 
knew  it  before,  but  the  assurance  from  her  lips  gave  him 
measureless  joy.  But  this  joy  swelled  to  rapture  inex- 
pressible, such  as  only  the  saints  in  the  ninth  heaven  and 
happy  lovers  on  earth  are  privileged  to  know,  when  she 
invited  him  to  call  upon  her  and  pressed  his  hand  a 
second  time  on  bidding  him  adieu.  The  thrill  of  her 
fingertips  did  not  die  out  all  that  day;  but  it  was  a  week 
again  (for  Aronson  was  a  bashful  youth)  before  he  pre- 
sumed to  accept  her  invitation. 

His  mother  marveled  why  Saul  furbished  himself  up  so 
carefully  that  evening.  He  had  risen  from  the  supper 
table  prematurely  and  spent  exactly  fifty-five  minutes 
smoothing  his  hair,  tidying  his  cravat  and  drawing  on  his 
new  pair  of  gloves.  When  he  went  out,  instead  of  solicit- 
ing admiration  for  this  array,  he  seemed  to  avoid  it. 

As  he  drew  toward  the  mansion  whose  door-plate  still 
bore  the  name  of  the  departed  Ephraim  Wolfe,  an  un- 
welcome surprise  met  Aronson.  There  in  the  doorway, 
silhouetted  against  the  hall  lamp,  was  the  form  which  he 
knew  to  be  Serena's.  She  was  admitting  a  visitor — a 
youth.  The  door  quickly  closed  and  a  rosy  light  came 
through  the  tinted  curtains  behind.  But  Aronson's  spirits 
had  sunk,  his  resolution  departed.  Instead  of  crossing 
the  street,  as  he  had  planned  to,  and  ringing  the  bell,  with 
a  little  speech  of  greeting  all  prepared,  he  walked  on  to 
the  next  corner  and  irresolutely  turned  back. 

This  time  a  shadow  fell  on  the  white  curtain  of  the 
front  room.  It  was  Serena  rocking  herself  placidly  in 
the  rocking-chair.  Every  forward  inclination  brought 
her  sweet  profile  into  view,  every  backward  one  removed 
it.  Her  lips  moved.  She  was  conversing,  doubtless,  with 
the  youth  whose  stolid  shadow  occupied  the  center  of  the 
opposite  curtain.  Eight  times  Saul  Aronson  passed  and 
repassed  that  house-front  before  he  could  tear  himself 


258  THE   INCENDIARY. 

away  and  return  home  to  divest  himself  downheartedly 
of  all  his  finery. 

Two  days  later,  however,  he  saw  Serena  again;  and 
she  renewed  the  invitation.  This  time,  when  he  ap- 
proached, there  was  no  hostile  youth  at  the  door.  Serena 
herself  admitted  him  to  the  portals  of  the  paradise  which 
she  inhabited  in  common  with  Mrs.  Wolfe  and  the  seven 
boarders,  and  10  o'clock  had  long  ceased  striking  when, 
incoherent  with  ecstasy,  Saul  Aronson  uttered  his  last 
lingering  doorstep  adieu  and  promised  to  return. 

He  never  returned.  As  she  informed  Inspector  Mc- 
Causland,  Serena  had  never  looked  on  that  lovelorn 
visage  again. 

This  was  how  he  came  to  break  his  promise:  One 
Sunday  afternoon  a  messenger  came  to  the  Aronson  door 
with  a  request  from  Simon  Rabofsky  that  Saul  should 
favor  him  with  a  visit.  The  young  man  had  misgivings, 
but  he  dared  not  disobey. 

Up  a  squalid  flight,  into  a  dingy  back  room,  Aronson 
took  his  way  reluctantly.  The  clamor  of  voices  died  when 
he  crossed  the  threshold  and  six  pairs  of  inimical  eyes,  he 
thought,  were  lifted  to  his  face.  At  a  table  in  the  midst 
sat  Rabofsky,  his  yellowish  earlocks  dangling  beneath 
his  skull-cap  and  a  great  book  spread  open  before  him. 

"Peace  be  with  you,  Saul  Aronson,"  he  said  in  the 
jargon. 

''The  angel  Dumah  spare  you,  Simon  Rabofsky,"  an- 
swered Aronson. 

"I  rejoice  to  see  that  you  have  not  forgotten  the  holy 
salutations." 

The  twelve  eyes  sharpened  their  glances  at  Aronson 
and  he  knew  the  ordeal  was  come.  They  were  six  of  the 
strictest  in  the  congregation,  from  old  Silberstein,  who 
sat  on  the  left  of  the  ark  and  led  the  recitation  of 
the  eighteen  psalms  of  a  morning,  to  young  Cohen, 
the  Jewish  butcher,  a  zealot  of  zealots,  than  whom  none 
more  devoutly  beat  his  bosom  in  prayer  or  observed  the 
allotted  holy  days. 

"Brother  Silberstein  was  just  proposing  that  your  place 


THE  INCENDIARY.  259 

in  the  synagogue  be  disposed  of.  It  is  a  pity  to  see  a  seat 
vacant,  when  so  many  must  stand.  But  I  bade  him  not 
be  hasty,  for  perhaps  you  had  been  ill  of  late." 

"Why  play  the  innocent,  Simon  Rabofsky,"  broke  in 
Cohen,  "when  you  know  as  well  as  we  that  he  has  been 
consorting  with  the  gentiles?" 

"It  is  because  I  am  loath  to  believe  it,"  answered 
Rabofsky,  in  a  sorrowful  tone,  as  if  rebuking  Cohen.  "I 
am  loath  to  believe  one  of  Isaac  Aronson's  household 
would  turn  away  to  bow  before  the  idols  of  Babylon." 

"Is  it  forbidden  to  search  for  wisdom?"  said  Aron- 
son. 

"You  do  not  search  for  it  in  the  book  where  it  is  found," 
said  Rabofsky,  laying  his  finger  on  the  book  before  him. 
It  was  printed  in  Semitic  characters,  but  the  language 
was  the  jargon,  for  Rabofsky  was  no  master  of  Hebrew 
and  Aramaic,  "the  divine  talmud,  which  our  fathers  have 
preserved  through  their  hundred  persecutions." 

"But  its  wisdom  is  obscure,"  answered  Aronson. 

"Are  there  not  doctors  to  explain  those  parts  which  are 
dark?"  rejoined  Rabofsky.  "And  behold,  in  this  edition, 
which  a  Hebrew  so  enlightened  as  Saul  Aronson  should 
possess,  are  not  all  the  lengthy  passages  shortened  and 
the  unnecessary  omitted  by  the  labors  of  that  light  of 
Israel,  born  at  Cordova,  Moses  ben  Maimon,  whom  the 
gentiles  miscall  Maimonides?" 

"Why  plead  with  the  apostate?''  cried  Silberstein,  angri- 
ly. "He  is  no  longer  a  Jew.  He  toileth  on  the  Sabbath. 
He  goeth  not  down  to  the  waterside  to  lament." 

"It  is  false,"  said  Aronson,  hotly. 

"I  said  so,"  nodded  Rabofsky. 

"Who  are  you  to  reprove  me,  Simon  Rabofsky,"  con- 
tinued Aronson,  "because  I  cannot  lie  idle  two  days  in 
the  week?  Do  you  rest  from  your  money-getting  on  the 
Sabbath?  I  think  your  wife,  Rebecca,  could  answer  me 
that.  Did  I  not  see  her  selling  jewels  to  a  Christian  on 
the  seventh  day  of  this  very  week?" 

"It  is  written,"  answered  Rabofsky,  his  steel-blue  eyes 
contracting,  "that  the  high  priests  in  the  hour  of  neces- 


260  THE  INCENDIARY. 

sity  made  food  of  the  bread  of  the  tabernacle.  So  saith 
the  holy  book,"  he  laid  his  finger  again  on  the  page, 
"which  Jehovah  hath  covered  with  the  wings  of  His  pro- 
tection so  that  torches  could  not  destroy  it.  Behold  it  has 
arisen  from  a  thousand  burnings  uncharred!" 

All  the  Hebrews  plucked  their  garments  and  with 
bowed  heads  muttered  a  prayer,  in  which  Aronson  found 
himself  joining. 

"Too  many  of  our  youth  are  beguiled  by  the  flatteries 
of  the  gentiles/'  continued  Rabofsky,  not  unwilling  to 
divert  the  conversation. 

"But  such  are  only  the  lax  ones,  who  worship  no  God," 
said  Cohen.  "Few  grovel  before  idols,  like  this  one." 

"And  hath  Saul  Aronson  done  this?"  asked  Rabofsky, 
as  if  in  surprise. 

"Did  you  not  see  him  yourself  at  the  gentile  ceremony 
raising  his  hands?" 

"You  wrong  the  Christians,"  protested  Aronson. 
"They  are  not  all  cruel  and  there  is  much  sweetness  of 
love  in  their  doctrine." 

"Not  cruel!"  rejoined  Cohen.  "How  have  they  not 
poured  out  our  blood  in  the  ages !" 

"Jehovah  hath  stored  it  up,"  added  a  gentler  voice, 
piteously.  It  was  Abraham  Barentzen,  the  patriarch  of 
the  colony,  who  had  not  spoken  before,  but  kept  looking 
at  the  backslider  kindly,  as  if  more  in  sorrow  than  bitter- 
ness. 

^Sweetness  of  love!"  cried  Silberstein.  "Love  indeed 
and  enough.  How  they  love  each  other!  Sect  em- 
bracing sect!  Pah!'' 

"They  hate  us;  they  mock  us,  and  our  children  court 
them,"  droned  another  in  a  minor  key. 

"They  call  us  cheats  and  usurers,"  cried  Cohen,  "be- 
cause we  make  wealth  out  of  the  waste  they  cast  away." 

"Psh!"  said  old  Barentzen,  raising  his  hands.  "Be  just. 
Those  are  only  the  few." 

"Perhaps  it  is  some  gentle  girl  that  is  tempting  Saul 
Aronson,  even  as  the  Philistine  women  of  old  weakened 
the  faith  of  Samson,"  said  Rabofsky,  keenly. 


THE   INCENDIARY.  261 

"Are  there  not  black-eyed  daughters  of  Israel,"  cried 
old  Barentzen,  mild-voiced  and  reproving,  "who  will 
make  him  a  home?  If  he  wants  a  wife  comely,  buxom, 
well-dowered,  modest,  a  good  housekeeper  and  free  from 
tittle-tattle,  are  there  not  such  by  scores  in  the  neighbor- 
hood?" 

"I  fear  it  is  Meyer  Shagarach's  doing,"  murmured  Sil- 
berstein. 

"Not  so,''  spoke  Cohen,  sharply.  Though  young,  he 
seemed  a  leader.  "Shagarach  is  lost  to  the  fold  of  Israel, 
but  does  he  chant  with  cracked  voice  out  of  a  tattered 
hymn-book?  Pretty  soon  we  shall  see  Saul  Aronson 
shivering  in  the  waters  of  baptism,  and  then  he  will 
change  his  name  to  Paul,  like  that  other  traitor,  the  fire- 
brand of  Tarsus?" 

"Traitor  yourself!"  cried  Aronson,  stung  by  Cohen's 
irony. 

The  word  has  terrible  force  in  Israel.  The  whole  past 
of  the  race  is  vivid  in  the  minds  of  the  wanderers,  and 
recollection  of  its  sorrows  makes  a  bond  so  strong  that 
no  temptation  can  break  it.  Aronson  paused  to  think. 
The  dim  traditions,  all  tears  and  fire  and  blood — the 
exodus  from  Egypt,  the  Babylonian  captivity,  the  burn- 
ing of  Jerusalem,  the  dispersion,  the  persecutions  without 
number — could  he  forget  all  those,  snapping  ties  so 
sacred? 

"After  all,  I  think  Saul  Aronson's  heart  is  not  with  the 
gentiles,"  said  old  Barentzen,  in  a  soothing  voice. 
"Would  he  rather  be  buried  when  he  dies  under  some 
idolatrous  mound  stuck  with  the  symbol  of  him  whom 
Judas  righteously  delivered " 

"There  never  was  such  a  Nazarene,"  broke  in  Cohen 
impetuously.  "It  is  all  a  fable  and  the  text  in  Josephus 
was  written  in  by  the  gentiles." 

"I  say  the  Christ  was  real  and  rightly  condemned  as 
a  creator  of  sedition,"  said  Rabofsky,  with  authoritative 
pomp.  Like  the  misers  of  every  race,  he  was  both  dev- 
otee and  formalist. 

"He  is  not  mentioned  in  the  talmud/'  argued  Cohen. 


262  THE   INCENDIARY. 

"Nor  elsewhere,  until  the  history  of  our  race  crosses  the 
history  of  the  pagans.  It  is  all  an  invention." 

Thereupon  the  two  zealots  wrangled  and  jangled  till 
Aronson's  ears  ached.  But  his  mind  was  dwelling  upon 
old  Barentzen's  saying  and  sadly  acknowledging  its 
truth.  His  heart  was  not  really  with  the  Christians. 
What  did  he  know  of  their  teachings?  He  had  been  given 
a  bible,  but  it  was  locked  in  his  office  drawer,  unread. 
Besides,  these  were  deep  questions.  Who  was  he  to 
dispute  the  great  doctors,  like  Moses  ben  Maimon? 

"So  be  it,  obstinate  youth,"  said  Rabofsky  at  last,  wav- 
ing his  hands  to  end  the  discussion. 

"I  had  begun  to  ask  Saul  Aronson  a  question,"  re- 
sumed Barentzen,  in  a  tone  of  rebuke.  "Would  you  not 
rather  lie  like  your  fathers  with  the  shards  on  your  eye- 
lids and  a  handful  of  earth  from  the  land  of  Israel  thrown 
over  your  resting-place?" 

Aronson  hung  his  head. 

"Enough  of  this  pleading  and  coaxing,"  snarled  Cohen. 
"He  is  stiff-necked,  I  see.  I  will  put  his  name  with  the 
other  traitors.  There  are  twenty  in  all.  They  shall  be 
published  in  the  next  issue." 

"Stay,"  said  Aronson. 

"On  the  first  page,"  said  Silberstein.  "And  the  first 
page  shall  be  hung  outward  in  my  store  window." 

"That  the  very  children  may  know  them  for  apostates 
and  greedy  hypocrites,"  added  Rabofsky,  to  clinch  the 
threat. 

"Hold,"  cried  Aronson.  He  foresaw  the  fatal  result 
of  his  misstep.  He  could  hear  the  storm  rising  around 
him;  the  clamor  of  children  on  the  streets,  the  pointed 
fingers  of  men  and  women,  the  ironical  comments  from 
the  doorstep  groups  when  he  passed,  the  sly  digs  at  the 
supper  table,  the  estranged  glances  of  his  mother.  "It 
is  all  wrong,"  he  cried. 

"Then,  why  do  you  haunt  the  gentile  mountebanks?" 
asked  Cohen,  seizing  his  sleeve. 

"Fangled  like  a  fop!"  said  Silberstein,  catching  his 
lapel. 


THE    INCENDIARY.  263 

"And  shun  the  blessed  synagogue?"  added  another, 
fumbling  at  his  vest  buttons. 

"Are  you  a  gentile  of  a  Jew?"  questioned  Rabofsky,  as 
chief  inquisitor. 

"I  am  a  Jew!"  cried  Aronson,  in  honest  wrath,  tousled 
and  clapperclawed  until  his  patience  had  given  away. 
Then  he  rushed  from  the  room. 

The  list  of  "traitors"  appeared  in  the  Jewish  Messenger 
without  Saul  Aronson's  name.  The  old,  old  conflict  be- 
tween love  and  honor  had  ended  with  another  defeat  for 
the  imperious  boy-god.  But  it  is  no  discredit  to  Serena 
Lamb  that  her  influence  yielded  to  a  passion  which  is 
hardly  second  to  any  in  the  world  for  intensity — the 
Israelite's  devotion  to  his  race.  All  that  she  retained  of 
the  young  convert  from  whom  so  much  had  been  ex- 
pected was  a  confused  memory  of  the  conversation  in  her 
sitting-room.  What  had  Aronson  told  her  in  his  agita- 
tion during  that  confidential  interview?  It  would  seem 
that  he  had  been  too  frank.  At  least,  for  several  weeks 
after  Serena's  visit  to  McCausland,  he  was  strangely 
conscious  that  some  one  was  dogging  his  footsteps,  both 
at  home  and  about  the  office.  Naturally,  he  ascribed 
this  espionage  to  the  sacred  brotherhood,  whose  power  is 
great  in  Israel,  and,  fearing  their  vigilance,  redoubled 
his  evening  invocations  and  waxed  regular  in  his  attend- 
ance at  the  synagogue. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

THE  WRATH  OF  SHAGARACH. 

Walter  Riley,  Thomas  J.  Fenton  and  Arthur  Watts  had 
a  separate  trial  from  the  other  members  of  the  "club," 
which  resorted  to  Lanty  Lonergan's  back  kitchen. 
There  was  only  one  charge  against  them — to  wit,  the 
larceny  of  three  bicycles  and  their  sale  to  one  Timothy 
Bagley,  aforesaid,  dealer  in  junk. 


264  THE   INCENDIARY. 

The  government  had  little  difficulty  in  proving  its  case. 
First,  one  of  the  owners  of  the  bicycles  testified  to  having 
recognized  his  wheel,  cunningly  repainted,  in  a  stranger's 
possession,  to  following  up  its  rider  and  tracing  it  finally 
to  an  auction  sale  at  which  he  had  purchased  it  cheap. 
From  the  auctioneer  to  Bagley,  from  Bagley  to  the 
"club,"  was  easy  work  for  the  officer  detailed  to  investi- 
gate the  theft.  Walter's  unsold  wheel  was  confiscated, 
together  with  all  the  other  stolen  property  on  the 
premises,  and  no  fewer  than  seven  of  the  boys  placed 
under  arrest.  But  the  only  charge  against  Riley,  Fenton 
and  Watts  was  the  theft  of  the  bicycles. 

Bagley,  the  junkman,  who  was  involved  in  the  affair, 
had  made  a  singular  confession,  candid  enough  in  most 
particulars  but  with  great  hiatuses  here  and  there  con- 
cerning the  disposal  of  certain  articles,  principally  ar- 
ticles of  value — a  watch,  a  meerschaum  pipe  and  the 
third  of  the  bicycles.  No  threats  or  promises  in  private 
had  been  able  to  wring  from  him  a  confession  concern- 
ing these  points.  But  at  the  mention  of  a  pipe  Shagarach 
had  raised  his  head  and,  crossing  over  to  the  prosecuting 
attorney,  secured  a  description  of  the  missing  object. 

"You  admit,  then,  that  you  offered  Riley  $10  for  the 
bicycle  which  he  had  ridden?"  asked  Shagarach  of  Bagley 
on  cross-examination. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"How  often  did  you  repeat  this  offer?" 

"Several  times — about  four  or  five  times." 

"And  the  boy  each  time  refused?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"What  language  did  he  use?" 

"He  said  the  wheel  wasn't  his.'' 

"Which  you  knew  very  well,  didn't  you,  without  being 
told?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"And  when  you  proposed  that  Fenton  should  ride  the 
bicycle  over  to  your  shop,  what  was  Riley's  conduct 
then?" 


THE  INCENDIARY.  265 

"I  don't  know  of  my  own  knowledge.  But  they  told 
me  that  he  wouldn't  have  it" 

"He  threatened  them,  then?" 

"Yes,  sir,  you  might  call  it  threatening." 

"Then  Riley  would  appear  to  have  put  forward  some 
claim  upon  the  bicycle,  although  he  denied  that  it  was 
his.  Would  you  not  say  that  he  seemed  to  regard  him- 
self as  its  custodian  rather  than  its  proprietor?  That  he 
was  storing  it  in  Lonergan's  kitchen  until  the  occasion 
should  arise  when  it  might  be  returned  to  its  owner?" 

"Well,  the  boys  said  he  was  sorry  for  taking  the  wheel 
and  that  he  never  meant  to  steal  it." 

"That  is  all — all  on  that  point,  I  mean."  Bagley  had 
started  to  leave  the  stand.  "There  is  another  matter,  how- 
ever, with  regard  to  the  third  bicycle — the  one  which  has 
not  been  recovered" — Bagley  shifted  uneasily  to  the  op- 
posite foot.  "How  does  it  happen  that  you,  the  sole  re- 
pository of  the  secrets  of  these  young  law-breakers,  can 
tell  us  nothing  of  that?" 

"I  know  nothing  about  it." 

"And  about  the  gold  watch  stolen  from  Mr.  Merchant's 
window?" 

"I  don't  know,  sir." 

"And  the  meerschaum  pipe — of  rare  coloring,  accord- 
ing to  the  connoisseur  who  testified  in  the  previous  trial?" 

"I  know  nothing  about  the  watch  and  the  pipe,  sir. 
They  are  not  in  my  line.  I  couldn't  dispose  of  such  ar- 
ticles." 

"Ah !  But  you  might  be  acquainted  with  somebody  who 
could,  might  you  not?'' 

"I  suppose  I  might " 

"Some  second-hand  dealer,  let  us  say?" 

Bagley's  eye  dropped  and  he  looked  pale. 

"Have  you  been  visited,  Bagley,  by  any  one,  since  you 
were  let  out  on  bail?" 

"Only  by  my  bondsman." 

"What  is  your  bondsman's  name?" 

Bagley  hesitated  so  long  that  the  judge  finally  had  to 
order  him  to  answer. 


266  THE   INCENDIARY. 

"Mr.  Rabofsky,"  he  stammered. 

"Kindly  subpoena  Mr.  Simon  Rabofsky,"  said  Shag- 
arach  to  Aronson.  "It  is  that  gentleman  just  starting 
to  leave  the  room.  He  will  remain  for  a  few  moments." 

The  writ  was  made  out  and  handed  by  the  awe-stricken 
Aronson  to  the  money-lender,  who  glared  at  him  furious- 
ly. But  he  could  not  escape. 

"Mr.  Rabofsky  is  a  second-hand  dealer,  I  believe?"  con- 
tinued Shagarach. 

"I  think  so." 

"Of  a  higher  class  than  yourself?" 

"Oh,  yes  sir.    Mr.  Rabofsky's  reputation  is  first  class." 

"How  much  money  did  Simon  Rabofsky  offer  you  to 
keep  him  out  of  this  scrape?"  was  the  next  question.  The 
witness  looked  over  at  the  money-lender  in  terror;  then 
back  at  Shagarach,  and  his  terror  was  intensified. 

"No  money,"  he  finally  gasped. 

"Would  you  be  willing  to  swear  that  if  Mr.  Henderson, 
the  owner  of  that  pipe,  should  call  to-day  at  84  Salem 
street  and  request  Mrs.  Rebecca  Rabofsky  to  sell  him  the 
colored  meerschaum  which  her  husband  was  showing  to 
a  customer  yesterday,  when  Mr.  Shagarach  called,  he 
would  be  told  that  no  such  article  was  in  the  store?" 

Either  the  length  of  the  question  or  its  import  confused 
the  witness. 

"No,  sir,"  he  answered. 

"You  would  not  be  willing " 

"Yes,  sir,  I  mean — that  is — how  do  I  know?" 

"Mr.  Henderson,"  said  Shagarach,  turning  to  a  gentle- 
man present,  "will  doubtless  be  interested  enough  to  try. 
He  could  be  back  in  half  an  hour.  That  will  do,  Bagley." 

During  the  half-hour  Shagarach  put  on,  as  witnesses 
for  the  defense,  Walter's  schoolmaster,  who  told  an  anec- 
dote of  his  truthfulness  and  another  of  his  generosity, 
which  were  better  than  the  warmest  words  of  general 
commendation;  and  Emily  Barlow,  whose  story  of  the 
theft  accorded  exactly  with  Walter's  own,  which  was  hon- 
estly told,  with  a  correctness  of  language  that  his  former 
master  did  not  fail  to  notice. 


THE    INCENDIARY.  267 

"Only  I  never  meant  to  steal  it,"  he  said  finally.  "We 
all  clung  together  and  I  was  sorry  before  I  got  home.  1 
read  the  papers  to  see  if  the  owners'  names  were  given, 
but  they  lived  too  far  out  of  town.  If  I  knew  whose  it  was 
I  would  have  ridden  it  out  to  him  again." 

To  all  this  the  judge  listened  coldly.  He  was  a  new  ap- 
pointee, fearful  lest  the  balance  of  Libra  on  his  unprac- 
ticed  fingertip  should  incline  too  much  one  way  or  the 
other.  Just  as  Walter  concluded,  Mr.  Henderson  re- 
turned and  Simon  Rabofsky  was  summoned  to  the  stand. 
He  muttered  in  his  beard  and  flashed  a  glance  of  hatred 
at  Shagarach. 

"What  do  you  know  of  this  case?"  asked  the  lawyer. 

"Nothing." 

He  looked  furtively  at  Mr.  'Henderson. 

"That  will  do  for  the  present.  Mr.  Henderson,  will  you 
kindly  testify  as  to  the  result  of  your  search?" 

Mr.  Henderson's  testimony  was  brief  and  pointed.  He 
had  visited  84  Salem  street,  stating  that  he  came  from  Mr. 
Rabofsky  and  desired  to  see  a  colored  meerschaum  pipe. 
The  lady  had  shown  him  his  own  pipe.  He  had  priced 
it.  Twenty-five  dollars.  She  had  procured  it,  she 
said 

"One  moment,"  interrupted  Shagarach.  "Will  you 
kindly  remain  awhile,  Mr.  Henderson?  Mr.  Rabofsky 
again." 

Rabofsky  returned. 

"You  have  heard  Mr.  Henderson's  testimony?" 

"I  have  heard  it.  If  you  had  sense  enough  to  ask  me, 
I  could  have  told  you  that  without  sending  him  off  on  a 
wild-goose  chase." 

Shagarach  knew  that  Rabofsky  was  excited,  because 
his  accent  came  out  so  strongly. 

"Go  on,"  he  said,  giving  him  the  rope  to  hang  himself 
by. 

"I  know  nothing  about  this  case.  That  pipe  I  took 
from  a  woman  who  wanted  money.  I  lent  her  $25  and 
she  never  came  back.  All  I  ask  is  what  I  paid  for  it,  no 
more,  no  less,  and  so  I  wash  my  hands  of  all  of  you." 


268  THE   INCENDIARY. 

"Not  yet,"  said  'Shagarach.  "You  are  required  by  law 
to  record  the  names  of  persons  who  pawn  articles.  If  we 
should  send  an  officer  down  to  your  shop  would  he  find 
the  woman's  name  in  your  book?'' 

"She  would  not  give  me  her  name." 

"But  you  loaned  her  the  money?" 

"She  cried  and  was  so  poor  I  took  pity " 

"Enough,"  said  Shagarach  in  temper.  "Mr.  Hender- 
son!" 

Mr.  Henderson  replaced  Rabofsky  a  second  time. 

"You  were  about  to  say  that  you  inquired  of  Mrs.  Ra- 
bofsky where  her  husband  obtained  the  pipe,  were  you 
not?" 

"Yes,  sir,  I  asked  her  that" 

"What  was  her  answer?" 

"That  it  was  his  own  pipe  he  had  smoked  for  eleven 
years." 

This  statement  produced  a  visible  effect  on  the  specta- 
tors. It  concluded  the  defense  for  Walter  Riley.  After 
the  prosecuting  attorneys  had  pleaded  for  sentence,  Shag- 
arach briefly  addressed  the  judge. 

"The  real  criminals  in  this  case,  your  honor,  are  the 
last  two  witnesses — adults  of  responsible  years,  and  one 
of  them,  at  least,  enjoying  a  reputable  position.  They 
were  the  receivers  of  the  stolen  goods  and  the  encour- 
agers  of  the  crimes.  Were  I  prosecuting  attorney,  I 
should  suspend  the  cases  against  the  young  defendants 
until  justice  had  been  done  to  both  of  these  maturer 
thieves. 

"I  cannot  look  upon  the  deed  committed  on  the  lonely 
roadside  at  Hillsborough  as  a  serious  offense,  for  which 
our  code  provides  a  penalty.  It  was  a  prank,  played  in 
the  ebullient  spirit  of  mischief,  but  given  an  ambiguous 
color  by  Miss  Barlow's  well-meant  outcry  of  warning. 
Evil  resides  in  the  intentions  of  the  mind.  Not  until  Fen- 
ton  and  Watts  disposed  of  the  property  which  was  not 
theirs  was  their  misdemeanor  consummated  and  an  un- 
happy practical  jest  warped  into  a  legal  theft. 

"Even  then,  I  might  recommend  clemency  to  all  three 


THE  INCENDIARY.  269 

offenders,  on  account  of  their  youth  and  the  restitution  of 
the  property.  For  I  have  no  doubt  that  the  missing  bi- 
cycle will  be  found  installed  beside  the  meerschaum  pipe 
in  Simon  Rabofsky's  back  room.  But,  considering  the 
evil  associations  which  these  boys  have  formed,  and  their 
unfortunate  homes,  Fenton  having  no  mother  and  Watts 
an  intemperate  one,  I  believe  that  a  short  period  of  retire- 
ment, under  the  regular  discipline  of  the  reformatory, 
would  be  of  advantage  to  them. 

"But  the  case  of  Riley  is  different.  His  character  is  bet- 
ter than  that  of  the  others.  He  is  fortunate  in  possessing 
an  excellent  mother,  who  depends  upon  him  in  part  for 
support.  Moreover,  the  refusal  on  his  part  to  dispose  of 
the  bicycle,  against  a  pressure  few  boys  of  his  age  could 
resist,  shows  a  moral  courage  which  is  exceedingly  rare 
in  my  experience,  and  which  only  needs  fostering  to  de- 
velop its  possessor  into  an  admirable  man.  I,  therefore, 
respectfully  suggest  that  Riley  be  placed  on  probation.'' 

If  the  judge  were  not  so  new  to  the  bench  he  would 
have  known  that  Shagarach's  addresses  were  always  brief. 
But,  knowing  the  great  lawyer  only  by  reputation,  he 
judged  that  the  brevity  of  his  plea  denoted  a  perfunctory 
interest  in  the  case.  The  sentencing  was  deferred  until  4 
o'clock,  when  a  whole  batch  of  prisoners  filed  into  the 
"cage,"  one  after  another,  to  receive  their  punishments. 

"Ochone!"  cried  a  maundering  old  woman  after  every 
sentence,  and  even  the  court  officers  whispered  to  each 
other: 

"Perkins  is  having  a  picnic  to-day." 

But  there  was  little  severity  in  the  sentence  accorded 
to  the  white-faced  youth  who  came  just  before  the  three 
gamins.  Emily  recognized  in  amazement  Mr.  Arthur 
Kennedy  Foxhall. 

"In  consideration  of  your  social  standing,"  said 
judge,  "of  your  promise  to  reform  and  of  the  fact  that 
your  weakness  is  one  which  injures  only  yourself,  I  will 
mitigate  the  penalty." 

Then  the  clerk  read  out  a  fine  of  $20  and  costs, 
opium  parlors  of  Hi   Wong   King   had  recently   been 


270  THE  INCENDIARY. 

raided.  That  is  to  say,  four  tall,  youngish  men  had  en- 
tered one  evening  and  called  for  dinner.  For  Hi  Wong 
King's  restaurant  was  open  to  all.  Chicken  wings  had 
been  served  them  and  an  aromatic  salad.  Jelly  pats  had 
been  dropped  over  their  heads  into  dainty  plates,  on 
which  droll  baboons  scratched  their  heads  and  tigers 
grimaced  fiercely.  Such  is  the  art  of  the  orient.  Tea 
leaves  newly  steeped  in  a  bowl  had  taught  them  their  first 
lesson  in  the  needlessness  of  sugar  and  milk;  and  they 
had  practiced  with  the  merry  chopsticks,  a  pair  in  each 
hand.  Then,  by  way  of  diversion,  they  broke  through 
the  painted  screens  into  Hi  Wong  King's  rear  parlors 
and  arrested  eight  opium  smokers,  Mongol  and  Cau- 
casian, of  both  sexes;  among  these  one  who  was  dreaming 
over  a  peculiarly  elegant  pipe  proved  to  be  Emily's  ad- 
mirer. 

"Riley,  Fenton  and  Watts,  stand  up/'  said  the  clerk. 
Walter's  cheeks  were  burning  red,  as  he  stood  between 
his  companions.  They  seemed  to  feel  the  disgrace  less 
keenly  and  looked  at  the  clerk  with  sheepish  and  cunning 
glances. 

"Fenton  and  Watts,  you  are  sentenced  to  the  reform 
school  during  your  minority,  and  Riley  for  the  space  of 
one  year!" 

"Ochone!"  broke  out  the  maundering  old  woman  and 
a  chill  fell  on  Emily's  heart.  Then  the  voice  of  Shagarach 
was  heard  in  wrath.  The  building  seemed  to  quake  with 
its  power.  It  was  such  a  voice  as  that  Roman  tribune 
may  have  owned  who  could  make  himself  heard  from 
end  to  end  of  the  forum. 

"Sir,  you  have  just  imposed  a  nominal  fine  on  a  mature 
man,  who  has  not  only,  as  you  speciously  alleged,  ruined 
himself  by  a  degrading  vice,  but  done  what  example 
could  to  spread  its  contagion.  Immediately  after  you 
sentence  three  poor  children  to  long  terms  of  imprison- 
ment. Are  you  ignorant  that  four  in  seven  of  all  who 
enter  those  institutions  return  to  them  sooner  or  later? 
Do  you  see  no  possible  spark  of  reform  in  the  natures  of 
these  boys,  no  means  of  tiding  over  the  danger  period  of 


THE   INCENDIARY.  271 

youth,  the  formative  years,  the  sowing  season?  Or  do 
you  think  to  scatter  seeds  inside  a  jail  and  reap  some 
other  crop  than  crime?  Sir,  it  is  not  my  sense  of  justice 
that  social  standing  should  condone  offenses  and  social 
obscurity  magnify  them." 

The  ticking  of  the  clock  could  be  heard  when  Shag- 
arach  paused.  Officer  looked  at  officer,  as  if  they  ex- 
pected immediately  to  be  called  upon  to  execute  a  sen- 
tence, of  contempt  on  the  audacious  lawyer.  But  Shaga- 
rach's  reputation  was  great,  and  Judge  Perkins  could  not 
afford  to  inaugurate  his  session  in  the  Criminal  Court  by 
a  conflict  with  such  a  man.  He  only  stroked  his  chin 
nervously  and  pulled  at  his  severe  legal  whiskers. 

"I  do  not  know  which  is  the  more  deserving  of  cen- 
sure," continued  Shagarach,  "the  dangerous  laxity  of  the 
one  judgment,  which  virtually  acquits  a  convicted  law- 
breaker, or  the  atrocious  severity  of  the  other,  which  con- 
demns to  a  year's  whole  punishment  the  innocent  act,  al- 
ready more  than  atoned  for,  of  a  boy  for  whose  upright- 
ness I  would  pledge  my  personal  word." 

"Oh,  ii  you  are  willing  to  vouch  for  the  boy's  good  be- 
havior," said  the  judge,  "I  will  put  him  on  probation  and 
reconsider  the  other  sentences." 

"I  will  accept  the  charge,"  said  Shagarach. 

Emily's  heart  leaped  for  joy,  and  Mrs.  Riley  could  not 
be  restrained  from  rushing  forward  and  embracing  Wal- 
ter in  rapture.  But  the  most  touching  moment  came 
when  Walter  walked  over  to  Shagarach  and,  with  tears  in 
his  eyes,  but  a  stanch  voice,  said:  "I  want  to  show  you  I 
am  grateful." 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

COUNT  L'ALIENADO. 

"Here  is  the  substitute  I  promised  you,  Rosalie.    Miss 
March — Count  L'Alienado." 

There  was  a  vacant  seat  in  the  barouche  that  stood  be- 


272  THE   INCENDIARY. 

fore  the  Marches'  villa.  It  had  been  destined  for  Tris- 
tram, but  even  behind  the  black  glasses  he  wore  the  Au- 
gust sunshine  dazzled  his  eyes,  so  he  was  compelled  at 
the  last  moment  to  excuse  himself. 

"Mme.  Violet — his  lordship,  the  Earl  of  Marmouth." 

Count  L'Alienado  was  thus  informally  presented  to 
his  other  two  riding  companions.  There  was  just  a  sug- 
gestion of  Spanish  reserve  in  his  obeisance,  and  he  bowed 
a  graceful  adieu  to  Tristram  before  mounting  to  his  seat. 

It  was  curious  that  Tristram  should  have  been  the  first 
to  break  the  count's  incognito.  He  had  arrived  at  Lenox 
a  few  days  before,  attended  by  a  single  valet,  and  regis- 
tered at  the  hotel  as  M.  L.  L'Alienado,  Valencia.  Though 
not  imposing  in  stature,  he  exhibited  a  head  of  rare  dis- 
tinction— the  black  beard  trimmed  to  an  exquisite  point 
at  the  chin  and  the  curled  mustaches  setting  off  a  pair  of 
glowing  eyes  which  riveted  the  beholder  from  the  mo- 
ment he  met  their  gaze. 

As  the  artist  spoke  Spanish,  they  had  become  friends  in 
an  afternoon. 

"We  have  flattered  ourselves  that  the  coaching  party  is 
something  purely  American,"  said  Rosalie,  who  sat  beside 
him,  to  the  stranger. 

"I  am  glad  of  it  for  the  color.  That  is  an  element  I 
have  observed  to  be  generally  a  little  lacking  in  your  life." 

"Color  and  lordliness,"  sighed  Mme.  Violet.  "Ah, 
there  are  no  troubadours,  no  spurred  cavaliers,  no  mailed 
knights  in  this  busy  America — not  even  scarlet  soldiers 
parading.  You  men  are  so  dingy,  dingy  in  your  black 
propriety.  Why  be  so  funereal?  My  heart  goes  out 
sometimes  to  a  very  mountebank,  all  spangled  and  jin- 
gling like  a  tambourine  when  he  moves.  Color!  Give  me 
color.  Ah,  it  is  not  we  who  have  taste,  it  is  the  canaille ! 
It  is  Victorine,  my  lady's  maid,  with  her  bonnet-ribbons 
flaunting  all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow." 

A  silk  banner  lay  outspread  in  Rosalie's  lap,  throwing 
warm  blushes  against  her  throat.  It  was  the  prize  for  the 
gentlemen's  steeplechase,  which  was  to  close  the  pro- 
gramme of  the  afternoon. 


THE    INCENDIARY.  273 

"Scarlet,  sea-blue  and  gold,"  she  cried,  stroking  the 
tasseled  fringe  which  justified  the  last  addition.  "Are  not 
these  the  primary  hues,  the  major  chord  of  color,  and  the 
white  their  perfect  blending?" 

The  Violet  laughed.  When  addressing  her  directly  or 
referring  to  her  in  her  own  presence,  people  carefully 
called  her  Mme.  Violet.  But  to  the  world,  out  of  earshot, 
she  was  simply  the  Violet,  just  as  Cleopatra  is  Cleopatra. 
It  was  taken  for  granted  that  her  blood  was  French,  but 
Count  L'Alienado,  noting  her  fawn-brown  eyes  and  the 
strong  black  hair,  which  made  Rosalie's  fluff  appear  like 
carded  golden  silk — thought  he  detected  the  marks  of  the 
Romany.  Yet  the  full  mouth  hinted  at  a  Spanish  cross. 
She  was  not  very  young,  or,  at  first  sight,  very  beautiful, 
but  she  possessed  a  diablerie  stronger  than  girlhood  or 
beauty,  and  gossip  said  the  Earl  of  Marmouth  was  suc- 
cumbing to  its  spell. 

"The  signal!"  cried  Rosalie,  as  the  notes  of  a  hunting- 
horn  pealed,  faint  and  mellow,  from  a  distant  quarter. 
"It  is  time  to  start." 

For  several  minutes  the  occupants  of  the  barouche  lay 
back,  reveling  in  the  luxury  of  the  cushions  and  in  the 
changing  view  which  the  drive  afforded.  Other  equip- 
ages swept  into  the  main  road  here  and  there,  from  cot- 
tage and  mansion  and  by-path,  each  freighted  with  its 
cargo  of  flower-raimented  beauty.  Marshals  in  velvet 
hunting  garb  galloped  up  and  down,  with  low  salutes  to 
the  passengers  and  brusque  orders  to  the  coachmen.  On 
the  top  of  a  little  hill  there  came  a  pause  while  the  pro- 
cession was  arranging  itself,  and  the  conversation  rippled 
out  again. 

"The  color  is  overdone,"  said  the  Earl  of  Marmouth. 
"It  smacks  of  Latin  degeneracy." 

"Such  as  appears  in  the  canvases  of  Titian?"  asked 
Count  L'Alienado  quietly. 

The  Violet,  sitting  opposite  him,  caressed  her  bronze- 
eyed  spaniel  to  her  cheek,  so  that  she  might  survey  the 
newcomer  more  closely.  His  lordship,  at  her  side,  alone 
of  the  party  had  sat  upright  during  the  ride. 


274  THE   INCENDIARY. 

"You  are  Spanish,  not  Italian,  I  am  told,"  he  said, 
much  in  the  tone  of  a  hotel  clerk  demanding  the  settle- 
ment of  an  overdue  bill.  The  Violet's  eyes  met  the 
count's  interrogatively. 

"Question  me  in  Castilian,"  he  smiled. 

"Where  are  your  estates?" 

"In  Valencia." 

"I  was  there  last  autumn.  I  seem  to  have  overlooked 
the  L'Alienados." 

"Our  estates  are  in  dispute  with  another  branch  of  the 
family." 

Marmouth  grunted. 

"The  title  is  very  old?''  asked  Rosalie,  to  blunt  the  edge 
of  his  impertinence. 

"Not  very  old,"  answered  Count  L'Alienado,  gently, 
but  looking  full  at  Marmouth.  "Before  Columbus  set 
out  from  Palos  my  ancestor  was  knighted  by  Ferdinand 
the  Great — for  honorable  services." 

"We  are  moving  at  last,"  growled  the  earl,  as  if  per- 
sonally grieved  at  the  delay.  His  own  title  was  less  than 
200  years  old  and  the  services  for  which  it  was  granted,  by 
the  second  Charles,  though  historic,  could  not  possibly 
be  called  honorable. 

"Ah,  this  is  joyous!"  cried  the  Violet,  as  the  sensuous 
pleasure  of  the  ride  stole  over  her.  A  quick-step,  taken 
from  the  start,  gave  the  party  a  gentle  jolting,  just  suffi- 
ciently softened  by  the  padded  carriage  upholstery.  Up 
hill  and  down  dale,  through  the  riches  of  midsummer,  the 
route  chosen  wound.  Forest  and  meadow  sailed  leisurely 
by  them.  Handkerchiefs  waved  from  piazza,  and  window 
wherever  they  passed  a  dwelling  house,  and  at  every 
cross-road  stood  a  group  of  the  fresh-faced  country-folk 
to  give  them  greeting.  At  the  end  of  an  hour  the  road 
recurved  on  itself  along  a  hillside  overlooking  the  valley 
of  the  racing  park  and  the  pageant  bent  its  length  into  the 
form  of  a  letter  S,  so  that  without  the  delay  of  a  formal 
review  each  carriage  was  permitted  to  inspect  the  others. 

Count  L'Alienado  saw  barges  filled  with  maidens,  like 
living  flowers,  four-in-hand  tally-hos,  crowded  with  sport- 


THE  INCENDIARY.  275 

ive  collegians,  odd  jaunting-cars  and  donkey-carts  got  up 
by  the  wags,  staid  family  coaches  with  footmen  faced  rear- 
ward to  enjoy  the  retrospect,  and  open  drags  like  his  own 
without  number,  all  brilliant  with  lovely  womanhood. 

The  Violet  stood  apart  from  the  others,  sensuous  and 
exotic — like  an  orange  lily  in  a  garden  of  snowdrops. 
But,  supreme  over  all,  like  a  bright  light,  enhanced  by  re- 
-flectors,  shone  the  loveliness  of  Rosalie  March — pure, 
placid  and  faultlessly  costumed  as  ever.  The  jockeys 
whispered  to  one  another  when  her  vehicle  entered  the 
racing  park.  An  eager  look  at  that  moment  chased  away 
the  slight  hauteur  of  her  expression — not  unbecoming  in 
one  so  clearly  removed  from  the  common  order,  and  far 
from  approaching  disdain.  She  turned  her  head  toward 
the  stables  expectantly. 

"Paradise,"  said  the  Violet,  when  they  had  entered  and 
the  carriages  circled  around  the  great  oval. 

"This  is  something  like  England,"  said  the  earl. 

"None  the  worse  for  that,"  smiled  Rosalie. 

"No.  Most  of  the  good  things  I  have  seen  here  are  de- 
rived from  the  mother  country.'' 

"Do  you  agree,  Count  L'Alienado?''  asked  Rosalie,  ap- 
pealing to  the  stranger. 

"Candor  is  too  sharp  a  sword  to  carry  about  un- 
sheathed," answered  Count  L'Alienado. 

Mme.  Violet  smiled  archly,  bringing  her  Gainsborough 
brim  close  to  the  earl's  great  face  and  caressing  her  span- 
iel with  provoking  abandon. 

Rosalie's  little  abstraction  since  they  passed  through 
the  gate  might  easily  be  understood,  for  Harry  Arnold 
was  entered  in  the  steeplechase  for  gentlemen  riders. 

"There  they  come!"  she  cried,  but  it  was  only  a  group 
of  motley  jockeys  for  the  ring  race.  This  passed  off  quiet- 
ly enough. 

"Now  for  the  steeplechase,"  cried  Rosalie. 
Harry!"     She   instinctively   plucked  the   Violet's  hand. 
Then,    remembering    they    were    not    alone,    she    col- 
ored.   Harry  led  the  group  of  riders  who  came  from 
the   stables,   mounted  on  strong-limbed  steeplechasers. 


276  THE  INCENDIARY. 

His  uniform  was  of  the  bulrush  brown  velvet  he 
liked,  and  his  horse  a  bright  chestnut,  which  pranced  as  if 
proud  to  carry  such  a  master.  Even  at  a  distance  his 
splendid  seat  gave  presage  of  victory. 

"Mr.  Arnold  is  the  favorite,"  said  Count  L'Alienado. 

"Although  he  gives  away  forty  pounds  to  Leroy," 
added  Rosalie,  the  technical  terms  of  the  track  coming 
strangely  from  her  lips"  It  was  fortunate  for  her  peace 
of  mind  Tristram  was  not  there  to  hear  them. 

"Now  they  start!''  she  cried,  alive  with  interest;  but 
it  was  only  Harry  Arnold  who  spurted  his  curvetting 
chestnut  across  the  turf,  then  reined  him  up  on  his 
haunches  with  a  sudden  jerk,  as  you  may  have  seen  an  old 
cavalry  sergeant  perform  the  trick.  But  Leroy,  who,  as 
Rosalie  said,  weighed  nearly  half  a  hundred  less,  wisely 
reserved  his  white  horse's  strength. 

"Now!"  repeated  Rosalie,  unconsciously  clasping  the 
flag,  as  if  eager  to  bestow  it.  The  horses,  six  in  number, 
had  started  in  a  bunch  and  kept  together  easily  till  the 
pistol  flash.  Then  each  bounded  as  if  cut  with  a  whip, 
and  rider  and  horse  bent  forward. 

"Hurrah !"  shouted  the  ring  of  onlookers  about  the  in- 
closure,  as  all  six  took  the  first  low  wall  together.  The. 
course  led  straightway  across  the  oval,  up  a  hill  at  one 
end,  then  out  of  sight  for  a  circuit  of  a  mile,  and  back 
by  another  route,  over  ditch  and  mound.  Harry  Arnold's 
chestnut  and  Leroy's  white  could  be  seen  a  length  in  the 
lead  of  the  others  and  neck  and  neck,  as  they  struggled  up 
the  hill  and  sunk  to  view  on  the  other  side. 

"How  glorious !  How  delightful !''  cried  the  Violet,  in 
the  interim  of  suspense.  "It  is  better  than  the  wild  In- 
dians that  rode  in  the  coliseum  last  year.  Your  full- 
blooded  racers,  they  are  too  lean,  like  grasshoppers.  Oh, 
the  steeplechase  is  better.  I  believe,  after  all,  you  owe 
something  to  old  England,  which  bequeathed  you  this 
legacy." 

"You  remember  the  horse-race  in  'Anna  Karenina?'" 
asked  his  lordship,  much  mollified.  "One  of  the  most 
ethical  of  books,  in  the  broader  sense  of  the  word." 


THE   INCENDIARY.  277 

His  question  seemed  addressed  to  Count  L'Alienado. 
I  have  not  read  the  Russians,"  he  answered. 

"You  are  behind  the  world,  senor.  And  where  may 
your  diversions  lie?" 

"My  favorites,"  he  answered,  "are  the  Persian  poets." 

Rosalie  desisted  for  a  moment  from  scanning  the  black 
crest  of  the  distant  hill  with  her  great  eyes  full  of  eager- 
ness. Then  she  recovered  herself  suddenly,  and  cried  out, 
in  a  piercing  voice: 

"They  are  coming!" 

"Who  is  ahead?" 

"The  chestnut  and  the  white  are  even,"  said  the  count. 

"Oh,  I  hope  he  will  win!"  prayed  Rosalie,  clutching  the 
prizes  she  was  to  award.  Down  the  slope  they  strained, 
heading  toward  the  goal.  Only  a  close  side  view  could 
have  disclosed  the  advantage  in  favor  of  either. 

"Harry  Arnold  will  win,"  said  Count  L'Alienado.  "Le- 
roy  is  whipping  his  horse." 

The  count's  judgment  proved  correct.  Almost  imme- 
diately the  chestnut  began  drawing  away  from  the  white. 
A  nose,  a  neck,  half  a  length,  and  the  clear  ground  inter- 
vened. Harry  did  not  touch  whip  or  spur  to  the  sides  of 
his  mount,  until  the  last  leap,  when  a  high  wall  and  a  long 
ditch  had  to  be  taken  together.  On  the  very  rise  of  the 
jump  he  switched  his  chestnut's  flanks,  and  just  as  the 
conductor's  baton  seems  a  wand  visibly  producing  the 
swell  of  the  orchestra,  so  this  light  motion  seemed  to  give 
the  impulse  to  the  horse's  spring.  The  clatter  of  his  feet 
on  the  hard  turf  beyond  announced  him  the  winner  amid 
cheers.  Leroy's  white  took  the  ditch  gallantly,  too,  but 
the  blood  showed  red  in  its  nostrils. 

Instead  of  reining  up  at  the  goal,  Harry  executed  a 
characteristic  caprice.  The  fence  surrounding  the  race- 
track was  nearly  five  feet  high.  Careering  on  at  full  gal- 
lop, the  victor  urged  his  animal  toward  this  obstacle.  A 
great  shout  greeted  him  as  he  cleared  it,  the  chestnut's 
hind  hoofs  grazing  the  boards.  Then,  swiftly  turning  to 
the  right,  he  cantered  up  to  Rosalie's  carriage,  gracefully 
backed  his  horse  and  saluted.  Leroy  joined  him  through 


278  THE   INCENDIARY. 

the  gate,  and  stood  at  his  side,  while  the  losers  straggled 
in,  haphazard  and  blown. 

"That  was  for  you,  Rosalie,"  said  Harry  in  her  ear  as 
she  laid  the  flagstaff  in  his  hand.  It  was  meant  for  a 
whisper,  but  others  heard  it,  and  on  the  morrow  the  news 
had  spread  all  over  Lenox  that  Harry  Arnold  and  the 
beautiful  Rosalie  March  were  definitely  betrothed.  When 
it  reached  Mrs.  Arnold  in  Hillsborough,  as  though  by 
special  messenger,  she  retired  at  once  to  her  room. 

The  coaching  party  paraded  out  and  dispersed  amid 
merrymakings  freer  than  before.  Mme.  Violet  was  be- 
witching during  the  journey  home,  making  up  by  a 
double  stream  of  effortless  prattle  for  Rosalie's  unwonted 
silence. 

"But  Poe,"  protested  the  girl,  as  if  waking  suddenly, 
when  the  earl,  who  had  got  back  to  book  talk  again,  in- 
veighed against  the  poverty  of  our  literature. 

"Ting-a-ling,"  said  his  noble  lordship.  The  carriage 
had  just  stopped  to  leave  Count  L'Alienado  at  his  hotel. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

THE  PURPLE  TEA. 

"The  Earl  of  Marmouth  sends  his  regards.  He  will  be 
unable  to  join  us.*'  Tristram  March  held  a  coroneted 
note  in  his  hands  while  he  made  this  announcement  to  the 
company.  There  was  a  faint  salvo  of  regrets,  meant  for 
the  Violet's  ears.  Only  Miss  Milly  Mills  was  heard  re- 
marking, sotto  voce: 

"I'm  glad  the  old  bear  is  chained  for  once." 

"But  the  grizzly  is  grand  in  its  den,  dear/'  chided 
Dorothea  Goodbody,  a  little  louder. 

"True.  We  do  not  fit  everywhere,"  said  the  Violet, 
who  had  overheard  them.  "Imagine  Thoreau  in  a  salon." 

"Or  Talleyrand  in  the  Walden  woods,"  added  Count 
L'Alienado. 


THE   INCENDIARY.  279 

More  than  one  of  the  company  had  noted  this  as  the 
third  occasion  on  which  his  noble  lordship  avoided  a 
meeting  with  the  count.  Was  it  that  in  the  reserved 
Spaniard  he  had  encountered  a  force  which  he  could  not 
overbear?  Or  was  he  jealous  of  the  count's  attention  to 
the  Violet?  Twice  at  the  Ryecroft's  hop  she  had  inad- 
vertently answered  the  slender  foreigner  and  turned  her 
smooth,  brown  shoulder  to  the  Englishman. 

"Well,"  said  Tristram,  "the  menagerie  must  perform 
without  its  lion." 

"How  flattering,  brother!"  cried  Rosalie.  Harry  Ar- 
nold was  leaning  over  her  chair.  "You  compare  us  to 
wolves  and  panthers.'' 

"Not  unhappily,"  said  the  Violet.  "Mine  host  is  clever. 
He  will  put  us  all  in  an  apologue  like  Aesop's.  I  am 
curious  to  see  how  I  shall  be  transformed." 

"The  mood  is  wanting,"  cried  Tristram,  while  the 
young  ladies  seconded  the  suggestion.  "I  am  savage.  I 
should  affront  you  all  with  some  furious  satire." 

"Imagine  Tristram  furious,"  said  Harry. 

"A  smothered  volcano.  I  have  committed  to-day  the 
sin  against  the  Holy  Ghost.  Guess  what  that  is?" 

"Success,"  said  the  Violet. 

"Candor,"  the  count. 

"Bachelorhood,"  Miss  Milly  Mills. 

"Punning,"  his  sister  Rosalie. 

But  Tristram  shook  his  head  drearily  at  each  response. 

"Well,  then,  tell  us,"  cried  a  chorus  of  impatient  voices. 

"I  have  prostituted  art  to  lucre — having  disposed  of  my 
great  design  of  Ajax's  shield — for  what  purpose,  do  you 
think?" 

All  the  guesses  were  wild  again. 

"For  a  bed-spread,"  said  Tristram,  and  there  was  a 
chorus  of  laughter,  amid  which  the  circle  broke  up  into 
little  moving  knots,  all  electrically  united,  however,  so 
that  the  talk  flew  from  one  part  of  the  room  to  another. 

It  was  one  of  Tristram's  soirees,  which  were  the  events 
of  the  season  in  Lenox.  The  flavor  of  art  was  substituted 
for  that  of  artificiality,  and  usually  some  souvenir,  bear- 


280  THE  INCENDIARY. 

ing  the  touch  of  the  host's  own  fanciful  hand,  was  carried 
away  by  each  of  the  guests.  The  coveted  invitation  for 
this  night's  affair  announced  "a  purple  tea,"  and  the  fur- 
nishings verified  the  description.  Rich  muslin  shades 
over  the  chandeliers  (Rosalie's  work)  purpled  all  the  at- 
mosphere of  the  parlors.  Purple  hangings  here  and  there 
carried  out  the  suggestion,  but  not  too  obtrusively,  and 
each  of  the  guests  appeared  with  some  purple  garment. 

Among  the  ladies  these  generally  verged  toward  the 
wine-colored  shades,  for  they  were  all  too  young  to  carry 
well  the  full  warmth  of  the  Tyrian.  Thus  the  Violet's 
mantilla,  Rosalie's  cloud,  Harry  Arnold's  sash,  were  all 
steeped  to  the  same  dye,  now  the  crimson,  now  the  blue 
element  prevailing  in  the  mixture.  Count  L'Alienado 
alone  appeared  to  have  evaded  the  rule  until,  raising  his 
right  hand  to  smell  a  rose,  he  scattered  a  pencil  of  purple 
light  from  an  opalescent  stone  which  none  present  were 
learned  enough  in  lapidary  science  to  name. 

"Let's  have  tableau  charades!''  cried  Miss  Milly  Mills, 
who  flitted  from  person  to  person,  from  subject  to  subject, 
like  a  butterfly,  and  was  accused  of  a  partiality  for  spruce 
gum.  The  suggestion  was  taken  up  with  approval,  and 
nearly  every  one  present  acted  out  the  first  word  that 
came  to  him  on  the  spur  of  the  moment. 

Tristram  gave  what  he  called  a  definition  of  himself  in 
lengthy  pantomime  which  no  one  could  fathom.  So  he 
was  obliged  to  explain  that  meed — eye — ochre — tea, 
summed  up  "mediocrity,"  at  which  one  and  all  protested. 
Most  of  the  other  attempts  were  quite  as  laborious.  But 
when  the  Violet  stepped  forward  and  trilled  an  upper  C, 
then  buzzed  like  an  insect  and  put  her  right  foot  forward, 
there  was  a  unanimous  cry  of  "Trilby!"  and  the  flatness 
began  to  be  taken  out  of  the  game. 
^  Then  the  pleasures  grew  more  miscellaneous  and 
Count  L'Alienado  found  himself  for  a  time  alone  on  the 
outer  balcony  with  Mme.  Violet.  The  sky  was  starlit 
above,  the  shadows  lay  deep  in  the  garden  bushes  below, 
and  the  diamonds  burned  amid  her  braids.  They  talked 
of  the  Persian  poets  till  the  light  voice  of  Tristram  within 


THE   INCENDIARY.  281 

interrupted  them  and  a  ripple  of  laughter  from  the  purple 
interior  reached  their  ears. 

"Ah,  this  is  not  fair;  that  our  wisest  and  wittiest  should 
impoverish  the  company  by  their  absence.  Your  places 
are  waiting  and  the  bell  is  tired  of  tinkling  to  you." 

"We  were  lost  among  the  stars/'  replied  Count  L'Alien- 
ado. 

Opposite  the  count  sat  Harry  Arnold;  opposite  the 
Violet,  Rosalie.  Waiters  were  serving  refreshments,  and 
a  purple  tea  was  poured  into  the  wine-colored  cups.  On 
each  table  lay  a  souvenir  containing  verse  or  prose  by 
Tristram  March,  with  fantastic  decorations  in  the  border. 
Harry  Arnold  was  just  passing  the  souvenir  of  their  table 
to  Rosalie.  It  contained  a  caricature  in  profile  of  Tris- 
tram himself,  and  a  brief  "Autobiography,"  which  Harry 
read  aloud: 

"I  went  to  school 
To  Ridicule. 
He  taught  me  civility, 
The  peacock  humility, 
Depth  and  subtility 
Feste,  the  fool. 

Meeker  and  meeker  becomes  my  mood 
From  studying  Conscious  Rectitude; 
And  if  my  speech  be  firm  and  pat, 
Madam  Garrulity  taught  me  that." 

"Oh,  I  hate  sarcasm,"  burst  out  Rosalie.  "Why  won't 
you  be  literal,  commonplace,  something  positive,  if  it's 
only  a  woman-hater?'' 

"An  abominable  fault,  brother  Tristram,"  said  Harry, 
sternly. 

"Hideous!"  cried  the  others,  drowning  poor  Rosahe^s 
homily  in  a  flood  of  irony  more  heartless  than  Tristram's 
own. 

Then  Rosalie  gave  him  up  as  incorrigible. 

"I  wonder  if  Count  L'Alienado's  jewel  has  not  a  legend 
attached  to  it?"  said  some  one. 

"It  is  an  alamandine  ruby  from  Siam,"  began  the 
count. 


282  THE   INCENDIARY. 

"Oh,  do  go  on,"  cried  Miss  Milly  Mills  from  the  rear, 
who  had  been  listening  over  her  shoulder.  "Tell  us  the 
story.  I'm  sure  it  will  be  better  than  Cleverly's  last  book." 

"Oh,  if  it  isn't  better  than  that " 

"But  the  setting  was  fresh,"  said  Tristram,  who  was 
Cleverly's  friend.  "He  rehangs  his  gallery  well,  even  if 
the  portraits  are  familiar." 

"This  talisman  of  mine  has  indeed  a  story  attached  to 
it,"  said  Count  L'Alienado  at  last,  "but  you  may  read  hun- 
dreds better  in  any  book  of  oriental  tales.  Its  quality, 
however,  is  curious.  You  know  that  mesmerism  has  long 
been  known  in  the  east,  and  that  many  of  the  occult  feats 
of  the  Hindoo  magicians  are  ascribed  to  that  power.  It 
was  an  Arab  caliph  who  first  attributed  to  this  stone  the 
quality  of  securing  immunity  to  its  possessor  from  the 
magic  trance.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  have  never  been  hyp- 
notized while  I  wore  it." 

"A  challenge,  Harry,"  said  Tristram. 

"You  possess  the  power?"  asked  the  count. 

"So  I  am  told,"  laughed  Harry. 

"People  go  to  sleep  at  his  bidding,"  said  Tristram.  "He 
is  the  surest  recipe  I  have  seen  for  insomnia." 

"Except  the  Rev.  Dr.  Fourthly,"  whispered  Miss  Milly 
Mills,  but  at  this  Dorothea  Goodbody  looked  shocked. 

"Shall  I  hypnotize  you,  Rosalie?"  smiled  Harry  to  his 
sweetheart. 

But  Rosalie  shook  her  head  with  a  little  shudder. 

"The  count,"  said  the  Violet. 

"The  count!    Hypnotize  the  count!"  a  chorus  echoed. 

"Very  well,"  said  the  Spaniard;  "a  moment  till  I  in- 
voke the  genii  of  the  carbuncle.  Now." 

"Are  you  ready?"  said  Harry,  laughing  a  little  awk- 
wardly. He  made  one  or  two  cabalistic  passes  with  his 
hands,  looking  straight  into  the  eyes  of  the  count.  They 
were  large  burning  eyes,  the  like  of  which  Harry  had 
never  met  before.  Gazing  into  their  depths,  he  seemed 
to  feel  a  new  spell.  They  were  drawing  him,  drawing  his 
soul  away.  Other  objects  disappeared.  Rosalie,  Tris- 
tram, the  Violet — he  clutched  at  them,  but  they  were 


THE   INCENDIARY.  283 

gone.  The  count  himself  grew  shadowy.  Only  his  eyes 
— fixed,  haunting,  luminous — remained,  centering  a  vast 
drab  vault,  which  was  all  that  was  left  of  the  populous 
world  and  its  occupants.  What  could  Harry  do  but  sur- 
render his  faculties  and  be  absorbed  like  the  rest? 

"It  is  Harry  who  is  hypnotized,"  cried  Tristram.  Ro- 
salie fixed  her  gaze  on  her  lover's  face. 

"Raise  your  right  hand,''  said  the  count.  Harry  obeyed. 
His  stare  was  glassy,  his  lower  lip  stupidly  dropped. 

"Do  you  know  this  glove?"  asked  the  count,  raising  a 
lemon-colored  kid. 

"I  do,"  came  the  answer,  mechanical,  monotonous. 

"Try  it  on." 

Harry  drew  the  glove  on  his  right  hand,  his  eyes  never 
leaving  those  of  the  count. 

"Button  it  tightly,''  said  the  Spaniard.  Do  you  remem- 
ber where  you  wore  this  glove  last?" 

"I  do." 

"Can  you  see  the  side  door  opening  from  the  passage- 
way?'' 

"I  can." 

"Do  you  recognize  the  youth  who  is  entering?" 

"I  do." 

"Is  it  Harry  Arnold?" 

"It  is  Harry  Arnold." 

"Does  he  listen  cautiously?" 

"He  listens  cautiously." 

"Does  he  climb  the  stairs  softly?" 

"He  climbs  the  stairs  softly." 

"Does  he  enter  the  study?" 

The  young  man's  face  twitched  and  convulsed.  His 
eyes  started  from  their  sockets.  The  foam  rose  to  his  lips 
as  they  worked. 

"Harry!" 

It  was  the  agonized  cry  of  Rosalie  March,  throwing 
herself  upon  her  lover  and  turning  defiantly  at  Count 
L'Alienado,  whose  fierce  insistence  had  amazed  the  on- 
lookers. The  spell  seemed  to  be  broken,  for  Harry  sunk 
from  his  chair,  supported  by  Rosalie's  arms. 


284  THE   INCENDIARY. 

"Some  wine,"  cried  Tristram,  chafing  Harry's  forehead 
and  gently  striving  to  unclasp  his  sister's  arms.  But  she 
clung  to  her  sweetheart  with  love  in  her  eyes. 

Count  L'Alienado  approached  the  unconscious  man, 
the  crowd  parting  before  him. 

"Wake!"  he  said,  "and  forget!"  Harry's  eyes  shut  nat- 
urally and  then  opened.  He  drank  the  wine  which  Ro- 
salie pressed  to  his  lips.  In  a  few  minutes  he  was  erect, 
eagerly  questioning  the  company. 

"Call  it  a  faint,"  said  Count  L'Alienado,  quietly.  "It  is 
better  that  he  should  not  know.'' 

"But  what  was  it  all  about?"  asked  Miss  Milly  Mills,  on 
tiptoe  with  curiosity. 

"Only  an  experiment  in  clairvoyance/'  answered  Count 
L'Alienado. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

THREE  TIMES  RUNNING. 

Shagarach's  office  was  a  hive  of  industry  the  next  time 
Emily  Barlow  called.  Walter  Riley,  installed  in  Jacob's 
place,  looked  smartly  clerical,  with  a  pen  over  one  ear, 
docketing  some  papers,  and  Aronson  was  knitting  his 
brows  over  a  decision  in  the  digest.  But  the  lawyer  him- 
self, she  thought,  did  not  appear  to  have  profited  greatly 
by  his  fortnight's  vacation.  His  cheek  was  worn  and  his 
manner  betrayed  an  unusual  aberration  at  times. 

He  had  returned  only  the  evening  before.  When  she 
entered  the  parlor  to  greet  him  his  mother  found  the  pad- 
lock chain  of  the  Persian  poets  torn  through  their  edges, 
and  her  son  face  down  on  the  carpet  buried  in  a  volume  of 
Hafiz,  with  Sadi  and  Firdusi  scattered  near.  She  trem- 
bled, but  she  did  not  disturb  him. 

"Our  cause  progresses,"  he  said,  in  answer  to  Emily's 
query.  "Important  links  have  been  discovered  since  we 
last  conferred." 

The  sweet  girl  lifted  her  eyebrows  and  waited. 


THE   INCENDIARY.  286 

"In  the  first  place  we  shall  put  Harry  Arnold  on  the 
stand.  I  have  traced  him  to  the  door  of  the  study  a  mo- 
ment before  the  fire  was  set." 

Emily  bit  her  lip  just  a  trifle  in  disappointment,  for  her 
own  cherished  theory  would  only  be  embarrassed  by  the 
presence  of  Harry  Arnold  there. 

"The  other  points?"  she  asked. 

"You  remember  the  peddler  in  the  green  cart,  alluded 
to  in  Ellen  Greeley's  letter,  who  carried  messages  to  some 
person  unknown?" 

"Perfectly." 

"Three  witnesses  stand  ready  to  swear  that  a  peddler 
in  a  green  cart  cried  his  wares  through  the  roads  of 
Woodlawn  about  the  time  of  the  fire  and  frequently  stop- 
ped at  the  house  of  the  Arnolds.'' 

"That  connects  them  legally,"  said  Emily,  still  more 
discontented.  "How  soon  do  you  expect  a  trial?" 

"In  less  than  two  weeks.  I  am  sorry  you  will  have  to 
shorten  your  vacation." 

"Oh,  it  is  better  over;  the  suspense  is  agony." 

"The  door,  Walter,"  said  Shagarach,  as  she  passed  out. 
Pretty  soon  he  went  home  to  his  own  midday  meal. 
Aronson  was  called  away  to  look  up  a  title  and  left  the 
Whistler  in  charge. 

Walter  had  already  caught  just  a  little  of  his  employer's 
decision  of  manner,  which  sat  oddly  on  his  rosy  face,  but 
was  no  more,  after  all,  than  a  laudable  aspiration  toward 
manfulness.  The  lawyer  had  discovered  his  skill  with  the 
pencil  and  his  mechanical  interests,  and  had  set  him  to 
work  evenings  copying  the  designs  in  a  drawing  manual. 
Meanwhile,  his  gamesome  impulses  had  quieted  a  good 
deal,  and  it  was  only  when  the  office  was  empty,  as  now, 
that  the  old  rich  whistle  was  heard.  Shagarach  and  Shag- 
arach's  suggestions  seemed  to  consume  that  whole  fund 
of  adolescent  energy  which  formerly  had  overleaped  all 
bounds  in  its  search  for  an  outlet. 

He  was  just  in  the  middle  of  a  skylark  solo,  interrupted 
by  bites  at  the  contents  of  his  lunch-box,  when  a  white- 
bearded  old  man  entered.  At  first  Walter,  hearing  the 


286  THE  INCENDIARY. 

limp  on  the  stairs,  took  it  for  old  Diebold,  the  pensioner, 
one  of  Shagarach's  clients.  The  lunch-box  vanished  like 
magic  and  there  was  a  hasty  brushing  of  crumbs  and 
swallowing  of  a  half-masticated  mouthful  before  he  turned 
the  knob. 

"Is  Mr.  Shagarach  in?"  asked  the  stranger,  glancing 
around  with  a  senile  leer. 

"Not  now,  sir,  but  I  expect  him  soon/'  answered  Wal- 
ter. "He's  gone  to  dinner.  Won't  you  be  seated  while 
you  wait  for  him?" 

"How  long?"  said  the  old  man,  mumbling  his  words, 
as  if  he  were  toothless,  and  nodding  at  the  boy  over  and 
over  again. 

"How  long  before  he  comes  back?  Oh,  he  never  stays 
away  long.  He'll  be  here  in  five  minutes,  I  guess." 

The  old  man  sat  down  feebly  in  the  chair.  Such  a 
strange  old  man,  thought  Walter.  His  white  beard  al- 
most covering  his  face  and  reaching  down  on  his  bosom, 
and  long  white  curls  coming  out  from  under  his  hat.  He 
must  be  almost  a  hundred,  said  the  boy  to  himself.  Yet 
his  eyes  rolled  around  quickly  and  his  skin  wasn't 
wrinkled  at  the  corners  of  the  eyes,  nor  did  he  have  those 
time-scored  furrows  in  the  neck  that  soldiers  call  saber 
cuts. 

"Buy  a  pencil,"  he  said  to  Walter,  taking  out  a  bunch 
from  his  pocket. 

Walter  shook  his  head  in  some  disappointment.  It  was 
only  a  peddler,  after  all. 

"Two  for  five,"  persisted  the  visitor. 

Should  he  show  him  the  door?  Mr.  Shagarach  did  not 
like  to  be  troubled  with  peddlers,  but  this  one  was  so  very 
old.  Walter  hesitated  about  dismissing  him.  Besides  he 
had  asked  for  the  lawyer.  Perhaps  he  had  some  business, 
too. 

Just  then  Shagarach's  brisk  step  was  heard  in  the  entry, 
and  the  little  man  came  flying  across  the  room  to  his  desk 
in  the  inner  office. 

"That  is  Mr.  Shagarach?"  asked  the  gray-beard,  jerk- 
ing his  thumb  and  leering  again. 


THE   INCENDIARY.  287 

"Walter,"  said  Shagarach.  Walter  jumped  and  was 
preceding  the  visitor  in  when  a  terrible  snarl  of  rage 
caused  him  to  turn.  The  white-bearded  old  man  seemed 
to  have  been  transformed  into  a  beast,  glaring  with  his 
wild  blue  eyes  and  gritting  his  great  teeth  at  Shagarach. 
He  raised  a  bottle  in  his  hand  and  hurled  its  contents  at 
the  lawyer.  But  Walter  had  caught  his  arm  and  pulled 
it  down  with  all  the  might  in  his  bourgeoning  muscles. 
The  liquor  hissed  where  it  fell,  and  several  drops  spattered 
on  his  neck  and  bosom,  causing  him  to  shrink  as  if 
touched  with  a  caustic.  Still  he  tore  at  the  old  man's 
face,  and  covered  the  mouth  of  the  bottle  with  his  palm  so 
as  to  intercept  the  hot  shower. 

Shagarach  had  been  looking  down  at  some  papers 
when  he  first  heard  the  sound  of  the  old  man's  breath 
forced  between  his  teeth.  As  quick  as  thought  he  reached 
for  the  paper-weight  and  hurled  it  with  all  his  force.  It 
struck  the  stranger  full  in  the  forehead,  cutting  a  ragged 
gash  with  its  edge.  Then  the  lawyer  sprung  from  his 
chair,  following  up  his  missile  with  the  quickness  of  a  cat. 
But  just  as  he  reached  across  Walter's  body  the  boy  fell 
back  in  his  arms  with  a  shriek  of  pain,  the  stranger's 
white  beard  coming  away  in  his  fingers. 

"The  oaf!"  cried  Shagarach,  but  the  assailant  was  gone 
in  a  flash. 

"Water!  Water!''  shrieked  the  office  boy,  writhing  in 
his  arms. 

The  lawyer  glanced  around.  The  wainscoting  was 
charred  where  the  liquor  had  fallen.  The  boy's  jacket 
was  eaten  away  in  holes.  It  was  vitriol  that  had  been 
thrown. 

"A  quart  of  lime-water  at  the  nearest  apothecary's,"  he 
shouted  to  Aronson,  who  had  just  come  back.  "And  the 
first  physician  you  can  fetch.  Don't  lose  a  second." 

Aronson  was  off  like  the  wind,  while  Shagarach  un- 
buttoned the  boy's  vest  and  tore  away  the  saturated  por- 
tions of  his  undergarments  that  were  clinging  to  his  shriv- 
eled skin.  Already  great  blisters  rose  under  the  action  of 
the  acid. 


288  THE   INCENDIARY. 

"Will  you  telephone  central  431,  Inspector  McCaus- 
land,"  he  said  to  the  tenant  opposite  who  had  been  at- 
tracted in  by  the  noise.  "Ask  him  to  call  at  once,  and  state 
that  I  have  been  attacked  again." 

It  was  the  physician  who  arrived  first,  then  Aronson. 
Walter's  burns  were  bathed  profusely  with  the  lime-water, 
and  the  blisters  pricked  open  by  the  doctor's  needle. 
After  the  first  agony  he  bore  the  pain  without  a  groan. 
His  breast  and  palm  would  be  scarred  for  life,  but  the  only 
wound  on  the  visible  parts  was  a  long,  pear-shaped  cor- 
rosion extending  along  the  side  of  his  neck.  You  may 
imagine  how  tenderly  Shagarach  nursed  him  and  how  ex- 
citedly Aronson  ran  to  and  fro  fetching  whatever  was 
asked  for. 

"It  is  time  this  should  be  stopped,"  said  McCausland, 
entering.  But  he  was  not  alone.  He  held  a  great  blood- 
hound in  leash.  "It  was  the  same  customer,  I  suppose? 
Can  you  give  me  any  article  belonging  to  the  man?  I 
picked  up  this  in  the  doorway." 

He  held  up  a  white  wig. 

"The  false  beard/'  cried  Walter,  holding  it  out  from  the 
stretcher  on  which  they  were  bundling  him. 

"Better  the  blood  drops,"  said  Shagarach.  "Search  the 
stairs.  He  was  wounded." 

McCausland  rushed  out,  his  hound  tugging  strongly 
at  the  leash. 

"Smell,  Wolf,  smell,"  they  could  hear  him  saying,  and 
then  a  half-trip  and  a  clatter  down  the  stairs  told  that  the 
dog  had  caught  the  scent  and  nearly  pulled  the  inspector 
off  his  feet. 

"I  am  glad  it  is  no  worse,  Walter.  The  doctor  will  do 
all  that  skill  can  to  soothe  your  pain.  You  have  saved  my 
life  twice,"  said  Shagarach,  pressing  the  boy's  hands, 
which  were  clasped  over  his  bosom,  where  the  lint  lay  on 
his  burns.  Gently  the  ambulance  men  carried  him  down 
the  stairs,  with  never  a  cry  from  his  brave  lips  tightened 
over  the  sound. 

"I  will  call  to-night,  Walter.  May  you  be  better  then," 
said  the  lawyer,  giving  the  driver  Mrs.  Riley's  address. 


THE  INCENDIARY.  289 

The  physician  climbed  into  the  spare  seat  and  the  wagon 
drove  off  with  its  suffering  passenger. 

"A  cap,  a  coat  button  and  a  false  beard,"  said  Shaga- 
rach.  "And  still  we  grope  in  the  dark.  Yet  an  anatomist 
will  reconstruct  a  mastodon  from  a  fragment  of  his 
tooth!" 

"Lost  again,"  said  McCausland,  re-entering  with  his 
bloodhound,  which  nosed  about  in  corners  of  the  room. 
The  inspector  sat  down,  puffing  and  looked  thoroughly 
disgusted. 

"You  lost  the  trail?" 

"Never  fear  Wolf  for  that.  Lie  down,  Wolf!  No;  the 
hound  kept  his  track  through  all  the  cross-scents  of  the 
city — something  to  boast  of,  that — there  was  blood  drip- 
ping here  and  there,  that  I  knew  by  his  yelping.  By  the 
way,  you  must  have  struck  him  hard." 

"The  paper-weight  is  heavy,"  said  Shagarach,  picking 
it  up  from  under  the  desk  where  it  had  rolled.  As  he  did 
so  the  hound  gave  a  roar  and  a  bound,  and  stood  up  to 
reach  it  with  his  forepaws. 

"Down,  Wolf!  Lie  down!"  cried  McCausland,  sternly. 
"There  is  blood  on  the  edge.  That  may  help  us  another 
time." 

"Take  it,"  said  Shagarach.  "But  you  lost  the  trail,  you 
said." 

"It  vanished  into  the  air.  Wolf  took  us  to  the  north- 
ern station,  running  me  off  my  feet  all  the  way — through 
the  waiting-room,  up  and  down  the  platform  twice,  inside 
track  gate  No.  5,  and  then — flatted  fair  and  square.  You 
know  the  random  way  he  runs  about  when  he's  lost  the 
scent?  Our  man  had  taken  a  train." 

"The  western  express,  12:59,"  said  Shagarach. 

"How  did  you  know?" 

"I  have  had  occasion  to  take  the  same  train  at  track 
No.  5  on  a  visit  to  Woodlawn.  Had  he  purchased  a 

ticket?" 

"No  man  with  a  cut  on  his  face,  or  of  our^  description." 
"Then  he  has  a  trip  ticket  and  lives  there." 
"Where?" 


290  THE  INCENDIARY. 

"At  Woodlawn,"  said  the  lawyer.  "Near  Harry  Ar- 
nold." 

McCausland  smiled  incredulously. 

"Is  Woodlawn  the  only  station  between  here  and  Al- 
bany?" he  asked.  "However,  I  telegraphed  along  the 
route  to  have  the  runaway  stopped." 

"What  time  did  you  send  the  telegram?"  asked  Shaga- 
rach. 

"At  i  :i9  by  the  station  clock." 

"Just  a  minute  too  late.  The  express  reaches  Wood- 
lawn  at  i  :i8.  It  is  the  first  station.'' 

"Heigho!  Here's  a  to-do.  What  about  Woodlawn?" 
asked  a  cheerful  voice.  It  was  Dr.  Jonas  Silsby,  brown  as 
a  berry,  with  a  broad-brimmed  straw  hat  and  a  basketful 
of  botanical  specimens  under  one  arm.  The  casual  ob- 
server would  have  taken  him  for  an  uncommonly  good- 
looking  farmer,  bringing  some  choice  greens  to  market. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

A  HUT  IN  THE  FOREST. 

"•  Who's  talking  of  Woodlawn?  Just  where  I  came 
from,  and  if  the  fronds  of  those  ferns  aren't  as  fine-cut  as 
petals,  then  I  don't  know  an  oak  from  a  gooseberry  bush." 

"Dr.  Silsby — Inspector  McCausland." 

The  men  clasped  hands 

"Didn't  meet  a  maniac  with  a  gash  in  his  forehead  on 
the  way  back,  did  you?''  laughed  McCausland. 

"Maniac — well,  no;  but  I've  rooted  out  a  peeping  Tom 
there,  that's  been  frightening  the  women." 

"How  was  that?''  asked  Shagarach. 

"It  was  those  ferns  did  it.  Aren't  they  beauties,  though? 
Feel!  Silky!  Maidenhair!  Rare  variety." 

"They  helped  you  find  the  peeping  Tom?"  said  Shaga- 
rach, who  knew  the  botanist's  tendency  to  forget. 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Dr.  Silsby.     "I  was  just  about  to  tell 


THE    INCENDIARY.  291 

that  story.  You  know  the  hemlock  forest  back  of  the 
blue  hills  in  Woodlavvn — marshy  place  thereabouts,  lots 
of  clay  in  the  soil— some  of  it  on  those  boots,  eh?  Well, 
those  ferns  came  from  there.  Didn't  walk  in  of  them- 
selves, I  guess.  No,  I  had  to  wade  for  them.  Pretty 
boggy,  but  not  quite  up  to  the  Dismal  swamp.  Well,  I 
was  feeling  about,  pulling  up  things,  when  I  came  on  the 
hut." 

"A  hut?" 

"I  call  it  a  hut  by  courtesy.  Begging  your  pardon, 
said  I,  and  tumbled  in  the  sides  of  it.  Hadn't  any  door 
that  I  could  see — only  two  loose  boards — and  was  mighty 
poor  carpenter  work  all  over.  Just  a  roof  and  three  sides, 
the  whole  thing  backed  against  a  pudding-stone  ledge 
that  juts  out  into  Hemlock  lake." 

"Had  it  an  occupant?"  asked  Shagarach. 

"Three  squirrels,''  answered  Dr.  Silsby,  "investigating 
a  can  of  corn." 

"Nothing  else?" 

"Some  old  newspapers,  a  blanket,  a  stool  and  a  mighty 
ugly  collection  of  instruments,  I  tell  you,  including  this 
article,  which  I  confiscated." 

He  removed  a  pistol  which  lay  at  the  bottom  of  his 
basket,  handling  the  specimens  as  carefully  as  if  they  had 
been  wounded  kittens. 

"Is  it  loaded?"  asked  McCausland,  taking  it  in  his  hand 
and  unhinging  the  butt.  The  backs  of  three  cartridges 
stared  out  from  the  cylinder. 

"You  kept  the  second  bullet,  Shagarach,  I  believe," 
said  McCausland,  removing  a  cartridge.  Shagarach 
rolled  out  a  flattened  bullet  from  a  pen  box  in  his  drawer. 

"Same  caliber,"  said  McCausland.  "This  looks  like  the 
pistol  that  was  aimed  at  you  that  evening." 

"So  you  know  peeping  Tom,  then?"  asked  Dr.  Silsby. 

"Mr.  McCausland  and  I  have  two  of  the  three  bullets 
that  round  out  his  pistol's  complement,"  answered  Shaga- 
rach, "and  the  third  is  lodged  in  my  ceiling  at  home  too 
deep  for  the  probe  to  reach." 

"I  thought  the  hut  had  a  human  atmosphere.    There 


292  THE  INCENDIARY. 

were  fresh  tracks  around,  and  the  station-master  spoke  to 
me  about  a  scoundrel  that's  been  frightening  the  country- 
folks— frightening  them  by  running  away  from  them,  as 
far  as  I  could  see.  But  you  don't  suppose  he  was  fern- 
gathering  down  in  that  swamp,  do  you?'' 

"Hardly,"  said  McCausland.  "Could  you  take  us  there 
now?" 

"Now?  I've  my  lecture  at  Hilo  hall — A  Study  in  In- 
gratitude; or,  the  Threatened  Extinction  of  the  Great 
Horned  Owl." 

"It  is  an  important  piece  of  evidence  in  the  Floyd  case," 
said  Shagarach,  though  McCausland  still  smiled  incredu- 
lously. "We  want  the  occupant  of  that  hut." 

"Robert's  case.  Command  me,"  said  Dr.  Silsby.  "Sorry 
Mr.  Hutman  wasn't  at  home  when  I  called.  I'd  have  had 
him  here  dead  or  alive." 

"Wolf!"  said  McCausland.  The  great  dog  started  up, 
wagging  his  tail.  "Smell."  He  offered  him  the  revolver 
butt.  The  hound  barked  and  smelled  his  way  to  the  door 
again,  but  McCausland  pulled  him  back. 

"It  is  our  man,"  he  said,  thrusting  the  paper-weight  in 
his  pocket. 

"My  pathfinder,  Aronson,"  said  Shagarach,  who  sprung 
to  his  desk. 

"The  next  train  for  Woodlawn  doesn't  leave  till  4:03." 

"We  can  go  more  quickly  by  team,"  said  McCausland. 
"I  will  have  one  here  in  ten  minutes." 

Then  he  departed  with  his  hound,  and  Shagarach  sent 
Aronson  to  announce  at  Hilo  hall  that  an  imperative 
summons  compelled  the  defender  of  the  great  horned  owl 
to  neglect  for  once  the  cause  of  that  calumniated  biped. 

"This  is  where  I  left  the  road,"  cried  Dr.  Silsby,  an  hour 
later.  "A  good,  smart  journey  lies  before  us.'' 

It's  uncertain  when  we'll  return,"  said  McCausland  to 
the  driver.  "Probably  not  before  6  at  the  earliest.  You'd 
better  drive  home.  We'll  take  the  train  into  town." 

The  driver  wheeled  his  team  and  drove  away,  while  the 
party  of  three — Shagarach,  McCausland  and  Silsby — 
crossed  a  bush-skirted  meadow  with  the  bloodhound  still 


THE   INCENDIARY.  293 

in  leash.  But  they  were  not  destined  to  remain  long  unat- 
tended. The  curious  folk  had  got  wind  of  their  intention 
to  unearth  the  peeping  Tom,  and  the  sight  of  an  officer 
in  buttons  emboldened  many  to  follow  in  their  wake. 
Several  men  offered  to  help  in  the  search,  and  McCaus- 
land  did  not  refuse  their  assistance. 

"The  more  the  merrier/'  he  said,  whereupon  not  only 
men  but  women  trailed  behind  them. 

Among  these  followers  was  one  young  woman,  familiar 
to  two  of  the  three  leaders  of  the  party. 

"Good  evening,  Miss  Wesner,"  said  Shagarach  and 
McCausland  almost  together,  and  the  great  inspector 
was  not  above  entertaining  that  somewhat  vulgar  curiosi- 
ty many  of  us  feel  as  to  the  relationship  of  any  chance 
couple  we  meet.  For  Miss  Wesner  was  attended  by  an 
exceedingly  attentive  young  man.  Courting?  Engaged? 
Married?  The  question  rises  as  naturally  as  a  bubble  in 
water.  In  this  case  the  truth  lay  midway.  What  more 
natural  than  that  she  should  spend  her  afternoon  off 
with  Hans  Heidermann  at  the  picnic  park  in  Wood- 
lawn? 

"Now  you've  left  the  cheap  bombast  of  the  town  be- 
hind you,"  said  Dr.  Silsby,  looking  at  the  great  trees  as 
if  he  would  embrace  them  one  and  all.  "Isn't  this  grand? 
Isn't  this  Gothic?  Pillars,  gloom,  fretted  roof — don't  tell 
me  art's  cathedrals  are  any  improvement  on  nature's.'' 

The  bloodhound  interrupted  his  rhapsody. 

"We  may  leave  Dr.  Silsby  behind,  if  he  chooses,  as 
well  as  the  town  bombast,"  said  McCausland.  "We  shall 
not  need  his  guidance  any  farther.  Wolf  has  caught  the 
trail  again." 

Two  or  three  times  on  the  march  the  inspector  had 
held  the  glass  paper-weight  out  so  that  the  dog  might 
smell  the  blood-clot  on  its  edge.  His  joyful  bark  and 
eager  straining  at  the  leash  announced  that  he  had  scent- 
ed the  fugitive. 

"Not  I,"  said  Dr.  Silsby. 

Pulled  on  by  the  hound,  McCausland  and  his  two 
companions  were  soon  trotting  far  ahead  of  the  plodding 


294  THE   INCENDIARY. 

laggards  behind  them.  Their  talk  had  died  away.  The 
heart  of  each  was  tense.  Not  a  sound  broke  the  mid- 
forest  silence  save  the  harsh  screams  of  purple  jays  re- 
senting their  intrusion,  and  the  snapping  of  twigs  and 
branches. 

"There  are  the  ferns,"  said  Dr.  Silsby. 

"Are  we  near?"  asked  McCausland. 

"Within  a  hundred  yards,  I  should  say.  This  is  the 
hemlock  grove." 

"Step  on  the  moss.  It  will  deaden  our  footfalls,"  said 
the  detective.  "Slow,  Wolf,  slow!" 

He  reined  in  the  impetuous  animal  as  best  he  could  and 
his  companions  crept  behind  him  softly. 

"I  see  it,"  whispered  Shagarach,  pointing  through  the 
trees.  It  was  nearly  5  o'clock  and  the  light  was  begin- 
ning to  slant  more  dimly  through  the  aisles  of  the  forest. 
But  following  his  finger,  the  eye  of  the  detective  made  out 
a  rude  shelter,  sharply  distinct  by  the  smoothness  of  its 
boarded  walls  from  the  rough  bark  surfaces  around.  It 
seemed  to  lean  against  the  steep  ledge  which  Dr.  Silsby 
had  described  and  the  roof  derived  most  of  its  support 
from  the  projecting  arms  of  two  great  trees  whose  roots 
spread  up  into  the  crevices  of  the  rock.  Osiers  and 
strong  withes  took  the  place  of  nails,  and  the  chinks  were 
stopped  with  moss.  No  log  cabin  or  camper's  shed  was 
ever  more  roughly  joined.  It  had  every  appearance  of 
being  recent  and  temporary. 

"We  must  surround  it,"  said  M'cCausland.  The  loud 
barking  of  the  hound,  re-echoing  in  the  stillness,  had 
betrayed  their  presence  to  the  occupant.  Shagarach  and 
Dr.  Silsby  stationed  themselves  each  at  one  side,  the 
former  empty-handed,  the  latter  clubbing  his  stout  cane. 
McCausland  waited  for  the  followers  to  arrive  through 
the  woods,  but  most  of  them  hung  back  at  a  safe  dis- 
tance, only  three  or  four  of  the  men  coming  close  to  the 
besiegers. 

"Who  is  inside  there?"  asked  the  detective  loudly. 

The  silence  succeeding  his  question  was  intense  and 
prolonged. 


THE   INCENDIARY.  295 

"We  have  come  to  take  you  in  the  name  of  the  law, 
and  we  will  take  you,  living  or  dead,"  said  the  detective. 

There  was  no  response  but  the  rustling  of  the  leaves. 
Song-birds  were  few  in  the  deep  recesses,  and  these  few 
had  been  frightened  from  their  nests.  A  creeping  fear 
entered  the  hearts  of  the  ring  in  the  background  and 
they  edged  farther  away.  For  the  gloom  was  gathering 
swiftly.  Only  one  patch  of  sky  was  visible,  above  the 
steep  ledge,  and  that  lay  toward  the  darkening  east. 

"I  prefer  that  he  should  be  taken  alive,  if  possible," 
said  Shagarach  in  a  low  voice  to  the  detective.  The 
latter  gave  three  strong  raps  with  a  bough  on  the  trunk 
of  a  mighty  tree,  then  cried  again  to  the  secreted  fugi- 
tive: 

"Once  more,  I  will  state  our  errand.  We  are  officers 
of  the  law.  You  are  wanted  for  the  murderous  attacks 
you  have  made  on  Meyer  Shagarach — 

A  hoarse  snarl  of  rage  burst  from  within  the  hut, 
causing  some  of  the  distant  spectators  to  turn  in  alarm. 
But  it  angered  the  bloodhound,  as  the  spur  a  proud  horse, 
and  with  an  answering  roar  he  burst  loose  from  his 
leash  and  sprung  at  the  hut,  forcing  a  loose  plank  in  with 
his  impetus.  Then  a  sharp  tool  was  seen  to  descend  in 
the  opening — apparently  an  adze — and  the  hound's  head 
sunk  under  the  blow.  He  leaped  from  side  to  side  in 
agony,  and  as  he  ran  back  whining  to  his  master  the 
blood  dripped  into  his  eyes  from  a  hideous  wound  that 
had  bared  the  bone  of  the  skull.  McCausland  swore 
furiously  and  the  lingering  shadow  of  a  smile  vanished 
from  his  face.  He  unwound  the  rope  which  he  had 
brought  along  and  secured  one  circle  of  a  double  hand- 
cuff to  his  left  wrist. 

"We'll  march  home  Siamese  fashion  or  my  name  is 
Muggins,"  said  the  inspector,  between  his  teeth.  Then 
he  began  gathering  brushwood  in  a  heap  before  the  hut. 

"What  are  you  at,  man?"  cried  Dr.  Silsby. 

"Smoke  him  out,"  said  McCausland. 

"And  fire  these  woods?  Are  you  crazy?"  The  botanist 
was  greatly  excited. 


296  THE  INCENDIARY. 

"Confound  your  woods!  Good  Wolf!  Poor  Wolf!'' 
said  the  inspector,  alternately  petting  the  hound,  who, 
amid  all  his  pain,  licked  his  master's  hand,  and  throwing 
fagots  on  his  pyre. 

"But — but — name  o'  conscience,  man,"  stammered  Dr. 
Silsby.  "This  is  the  finest  hemlock  grove  this  side  of  the 
White  mountains." 

"We  could  demolish  the  walls,  I  think,"  said  Shagar- 
ach,  "and  capture  him  with  a  rush." 

"Where  are  the  axes?"  asked  McCausland. 

"Poles  will  do."  There  were  heavy  boughs  and  light 
saplings  lying  about,  which  would  make  excellent  im- 
promptu crowbars.  Without  a  word  Shagarach  seized 
one  of  these  and  wedged  it  into  the  crack  between  two  of 
the  boards.  The  roar  of  rage  within  told  them  the  occu- 
pant was  watching. 

"Fall  to !"  said  McCausland,  scattering  his  brush-heap 
with  an  angry  kick.  The  three  men  began  prying  the 
boards  apart.  Several  of  them  creaked  and  gave  way,  and 
soon  nearly  the  whole  front  lay  in  ruins. 

"Surrender !''  cried  the  inspector,  pointing  his  revolver 
into  the  cave-like  gloom.  There  was  no  reply.  The  three 
men  peered  in,  then  entered.  The  hut  was  empty ! 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

THE  SECRET  OF  THE  POOL. 

Suddenly  a  shout  from  the  onlookers  behind  called 
them  back  to  the  breach. 

"The  roof!"  they  cried.  "He  is  climbing  out  by  the 
roof!" 

McCausland  and  Silsby  stepped  back  to  see  the  top  of 
the  hut,  while  Shagarach  rushed  in  once  more  and 
reached  at  the  ceiling  with  his  bough. 

There  on  the  top  of  the  hut,  his  body  half  emerging 
where  the  planks  had  been  shoved  aside,  McCausland  for 


THE   INCENDIARY.  297 

the  first  time  saw  the  long-missing  oaf,  and  Dr.  Silsby 
his  peeping  Tom.  But  Shagarach  was  groping  within, 
vainly  smashing  upward  in  the  darkness. 

With  wonderful  strength  the  fugitive  raised  himself 
erect,  sprung  from  the  insecure  footing  of  the  slippery 
boards,  and  began  clambering  up  the  ledge. 

"After  him,  Wolf!"  cried  McCausland,  and  the  blood- 
hound, nerved  by  his  tones,  tore  up  the  ledge  in  the 
monster's  wake.  McCausland  and  Silsby  clambered  as  best 
they  could  on  all  fours,  and  presently  Shagarach,  hearing 
the  outcry,  followed  them.  The  crack  of  the  inspector's 
revolver  was  heard  once,  but  the  fugitive  had  turned 
like  lightning  and  hurled  his  adze.  McCausland  uttered  a 
sharp  cry  as  the  pistol  was  struck  from  his  hand.  The 
fugitive  then  stood  for  a  moment  on  the  crest,  twenty 
feet  above  them,  outlined  in  hideous  distinctness  against 
the  pale  patch  of  sky.  But,  espying  the  hound  at  his 
heels,  he  had  given  a  mad  plunge,  and  the  onlookers,  who 
had  drawn  nearer,  heard  a  heavy  splash  behind  the  ledge. 
The  bloodhound  paused  at  the  summit. 

"After  him,  Wolf!"  urged  McCausland,  and  the  dog's 
plunge  was  heard,  as  heavy  as  the  man's. 

"It  is  a  pool,"  said  Shagarach,  gazing  into  the  black 
water  below  him. 

"Hemlock  lake,"  answered  Dr.  Silsby.  "The  land  be- 
yond it  is  marshy  for  miles.'' 

"And  no  boat?"  asked  McCausland. 
"One  at  the  upper  end,  a  mile  or  so,  kept  by  a  farmer." 
"Then  it  all  depends  upon  Wolf,"  muttered  the  detect- 
ive.   The  water  side  of  the  precipice  afforded  no  stair 
for  descent,  and  the  party  slowly  picked  its  way  down 
the  ledge  which  it  had  climbed,  and  made  a  circuit,  so  as 
to  stand  on  the  grassy  edge  of  the  pool. 

"Wolf!"  cried  McCausland.  The  dark  heads  of  man 
and  dog  had  long  vanished  from  sight.  No  answer  came 
but  the  night  sighing  of  the  trees  that  fringed  the  dark 
lake.  A  pale  quarter-moon  arose  in  the  open  sky  and 
lent  a  translucent  gloss  to  its  opaque  surface.  The  swal- 
lows twittered  high  in  air,  reduced  to  the  size  of  a  bee- 


298  THE   INCENDIARY. 

swarm.    But  the  lake  gave  back  no  tale  of  the  two  that 
had  entered  it. 

"Wolf!"  cried  McCausland,  again  and  again.  He 
whistled  till  the  woods  echoed.  He  clapped  his  hands 
with  a  hollow  reverberation.  A  plash  close  by  startled 
the  listeners.  But  it  was  only  a  pickerel  rising  to  his  food 
or  a  bullfrog  plunging  in.  Again  the  mysterious  terror 
invaded  the  hearts  of  the  pursuers,  and  the  women  clung 
nearer  to  the  men,  clutching  their  bosoms. 

Had  man  and  dog  reached  the  other  side  in  safety, 
there  to  continue  their  terrible  race?  Had  they  fought 
their  death  struggle  in  the  water,  and  one  or  both  of 
them  sunk  to  his  doom?  Who  could  tell?  The  lake 
guarded  its  secret. 

"It  is  dark,"  said  Shagarach,  but  McCausland  lingered 
on  the  bank,  shading  his  eyes  with  his  right  hand.  In 
his  left  the  empty  handcuff  clanked. 

"We  have  failed,"  said  Dr.  Silsby.  Then  McCausland 
started  with  a  jerk. 

"To-morrow,"  he  said.    "To-morrow  may  tell." 

"The  way  back  will  be  hard  to  find,"  said  Shagarach. 

"Light  these/'  said  Dr.  Silsby,  cutting  a  pitch-pine 
bough.  It  blazed  up  almost  at  the  touch  of  a  match,  and 
as  the  others  followed  his  example  the  forest  was  strange- 
ly illuminated,  weird  shadows  playing  about  the  party. 
One  coming  upon  them  might  have  taken  them  for  some 
brigand  band  en  route  to  their  mountains  with  plunder. 

"We'll  miss  the  guidance  of  the  hound  going  home," 
said  Shagarach,  and  the  women  shuddered  at  the  prospect 
of  being  lost  in  the  forest  at  nightfall.  It  was  an  unfre- 
quented place.  But  there  were  boys  present  whose  holi- 
day ramblings  might  now  be  turned  to  good  account. 

"Yes,  we  shall  miss  Wolf,"  said  McCausland,  looking 
behind  him,  as  if  still  hoping  for  a  signal  from  his  faithful 
hound. 

"Let  us  explore  the  hut,"  proposed  Shagarach,  enter- 
ing. 

"And  tear  it  to  pieces,"  cried  Dr.  Silsby. 

Instantly  the  roof  was  torn  from  the  rude  pile,  and  its 


THE   INCENDIARY.  299 

remaining  timbers,  hardly  more  than  rested  on  end,  al- 
most fell  asunder  of  themselves.  A  strange  heap  was  re- 
vealed by  the  flickering  torches.  A  stool,  a  sheet  of  tin 
laid  over  a  clam-bake  oven,  some  cans  of  prepared  food, 
half-empty,  an  old  coat,  a  blanket  and  a  collection  of 
knives,  spikes  and  other  weapons,  picked  up  or  stolen, 
that  would  have  made  a  formidable  array  in  the  belt  of  a 
pirate.  One  of  the  lads,  who  had  lighted  a  dry  rush  for 
a  torch,  was  about  to  touch  off  the  newspapers  that  lay 
about  in  great  profusion,  when  McCausland  sharply 
checked  him. 

"Bundle  those  up,"  he  said,  and  the  boys  obeyed, 
while  the  inspector  curiously  scanned  one  of  them  by 
Dr.  Silsby's  torch. 

"I  thought  so,"  he  cried  in  triumph,  motioning  to 
Shagarach.  "This  is  dated,  like  the  others,  only  two 

days  back — a  New  York  paper  again.  The  "  he 

pointed  to  the  name.  "He  knew  where  to  look  for  sensa- 
tions, you  see." 

"A  vitriol-throwing  case?"  asked  Shagarach. 

"Read  it  for  yourself,"  said  the  detective. 

"At  my  leisure.    We  may  as  well  start." 

"Has  any  one  a  compass?"  asked  McCausland. 

"Nonsense,"  replied  Dr.  Silsby.  "Do  I  need  a  compass 
with  the  flora  to  guide  me?  There  is  the  fern  bed  ahead 
of  us,  and,  by  the  way,  I  think  I'll  gather  a  few  more 
specimens." 

"Not  now,  doctor,"  remonstrated  Shagarach,  and  the 
frightened  women  echoed  him. 

"Tut,  tut,"  said  the  botanist.  "Have  I  slept  out  o' 
night  in  the  woods  since  I  was  so  high  to  be  frightened 
by  a  little  miscalculation  of  time?  Who  asked  you  to 
come?"  he  said  to  the  followers,  and  the  coolness  with 
which  he  rooted  up  several  ferns  actually  reassured  his 
timid  companions.  "I'll  take  your  newspapers  to  wrap 
them  in,"  said  he  to  one  of  the  boys,  but  McCausland  in- 
terposed. 

"Something  else,  doctor." 

"My  hands,  then,"  said  the  botanist,  cheerfully.    And 


300  THE   INCENDIARY. 

in  fact  he  guided  them  out  by  his  trained  remembrance 
of  the  vegetation  he  had  passed  almost  as  quickly  and 
surely  as  the  hound  had  led  them  in  by  his  scent. 

It  was  then  Miss  Senda  Wesner  proved  to  Shagarach 
that  for  all  her  reputation  as  a  chatterbox  she  could  be 
prudent  on  occasion.  For  she  selected  a  moment  when 
Shagarach  was  bringing  up  the  rear,  to  slip  off  the  arms 
of  her  escort  and  pluck  the  lawyer's  sleeve. 

"Do  you  know  who  he  was,  Mr.  Shagarach?"  she 
asked. 

"Who?" 

"The  crazy  man,  I  saw  him  plainly  on  the  top  of  the 
rock.  It  was  the  peddler  in  the  green  cart  that  used  to 
come  to  Prof.  Arnold's." 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

AN  OLD  SINGING  SOLDIER. 

"What  will  remind  me  of  the  summer  while  you  are 
away,  dear?''  Robert  had  said  to  Emily  one  morning, 
little  thinking  that  the  sweet  girl  would  treasure  the  say- 
ing for  a  whole  day  and  end  with  a  pitiful  accusation  to 
herself  of  "selfishness"  for  leaving  him.  Could  she  have 
consulted  her  own  wish  she  would  have  put  off  *the  excur- 
sion then  and  there,  but  a  stateroom  had  already  been 
booked  in  the  Yarmouth,  Beulah  Ware  was  looking  for- 
ward joyfully  to  the  trip  and  Dr.  Eustis'  orders  had  been 
imperative.  So  good  Mrs.  Barlow  sensibly  stamped  her 
foot  at  the  notion  of  her  daughter's  withdrawal  and  the 
maternal  fiat  went  forth  finally  and  irrevocably  that  Emily 
must  go. 

But  Emily  determined  that  while  she  was  away  the 
bare  cell  in  murderers'  row  should  not  wholly  lack 
touches  of  the  midsummer  of  whose  passing  glories 
Robert,  their  loyal  votary,  was  cruelly  denied  a  glimpse. 

And  so  one  day  the  carpenter  came  and  plotted  off  a 


THE  INCENDIARY.  301 

space  over  a  foot  wide  at  the  side  of  the  cell,  and  the 
florist  followed  with  a  load  of  beautiful  long  sods  rolled 
up  like  jelly  cake,  and  little  potted  plants  all  in  bloom. 
And  the  sods  were  laid  down  in  the  trough  the  carpenter 
had  made,  and  places  scooped  out  with  a  trowel  for  the 
roots  of  the  plants,  and  presto,  there  was  a  flower  bed 
all  along  the  side  that  got  the  sunshine,  for  Robert's 
window  faced  toward  the  south. 

There  were  twiggy  verbenas  and  fuchsias  of  tropic 
coloring,  the  nappy-leaved  rose  geranium,  less  highly 
rouged  than  its  scarlet-flowered  sisters,  and  blue  oxalis 
along  the  border,  plaintively  appealing  for  notice  with  its 
spray  of  tiny  stars.  And  lest  these  should  not  insinuate 
the  odor  of  the  country  sufficiently  into  Robert's  senses 
a  pot  of  sweet  basil  was  suspended  from  the  ceiling  to 
give  out  fragrance  like  the  live  coal  in  an  acolyte's  censer. 
Robert  had  complained  of  sleeplessness.  What  was  bet- 
ter for  this  than  a  pillow  stuffed  with  prunings  of  a  fir- 
balsam  at  night  and  a  sweet-clover  cushion  by  day,  when 
he  sat  at  his  table  and  wrote  down  his  thoughts  on  "The 
Parisian  Police  Theory  of  Concentration  of  Crime,''  or 
some  other  such  momentous  topic. 

But  the  last  day,  when  the  finishing  touch  had  been 
placed  on  this  narrow  bower,  over  which  the  shadow 
of  the  scaffold  so  imminently  hung,  while  Emily  was 
sprinkling  the  beds  with  her  watering-jar,  Robert  had 
laid  aside  his  pen  and  was  drawing  forth  sweet  music 
from  the  violin. 

"How  divine  it  will  be,  Emily,"  he  said.  "The  ocean 
sail  and  the  week  at  beautiful  Digby !" 

"I  wish  you  were  coming,  Robert,"  she  answered, 
sadly. 

"We  may  arrange  a  voyage  in  September.  That  is  the 
month  of  glory  in  the  provinces." 

Robert  had  never  admitted  entertaining  a  doubt  as  to 
his  acquittal.  It  must  have  been  the  confinement  and 
the  ignominy  that  had  worn  him  down  and  converted 
his  nights  into  carnivals  of  restless  thought. 

"But  I  will  be  with  you  in  imagination,"   he   added, 


302  THE  INCENDIARY. 

while  Emily  silently  poured  the  fine  spouting  streams 
over  thirsty  leaf  and  flower.  Poor  little  green  prisoners ! 
They,  too,  would  miss  the  air  and  the  sunshine  and,  per- 
haps, would  reproach  her,  when  she  returned,  with  wilted 
stalks  and  withering  petals. 

While  she  hung  her  head  a  far-away  voice  stole  over 
the  high  jailyard  wall,  through  the  narrow  cell  window, 
into  the  lover's  ears.  It  was  a  tenor  voice,  not  without 
reminiscences  of  bygone  sweetness,  though  worn,  and 
still  powerful  as  if  from  incessant  use.  Something  in  its 
tones  told  the  listeners  that  it  was  no  common  youth  of 
the  city  trolling  a  snatch.  For  when  do  such  sing,  ex- 
cept in  derision  of  song,  with  grating  irony  that  is 
ashamed  of  the  feelings  to  which  true  song  gives  expres- 
sion? We  are  ashamed  of  our  best  impulses  and  proud 
of  our  worst,  we  cynical  city  folk!  But  this  was  a  street 
singer,  a  minstrel,  musical  and  sincere.  Straining  their 
attention,  the  lovers  caught  here  and  there  the  import  of 
this  ballad.  Or  was  it  a  ballad  repeated  by  rote?  Was 
it  not  rather  a  recitative  improvised  as  the  impulse  came, 
both  words  and  music? 

He  sang  of  the  southward  march  of  armed  battalions. 
Their  ranks  were  full,  their  banners  untattered,  and  the 
men  shouted  watchwords  of  joy  when  they  beheld  the 
battle-ground  before  them.  A  great  chieftain  stood 
mounted  and  motioned  them  into  place  with  his  brand- 
ished sword.  Grant !  Grim  Grant !  They  echoed  his  name. 
Then  came  the  thunder  of  artillery  from  distant  hills,  and 
the  lines  of  the  enemy's  rifles  were  seen  glistening  as 
they  advanced.  The  defenders  did  not  linger,  but  rushed 
forward  to  meet  them  and  their  embrace  was  the  death- 
lock  of  Titans.  Hurrah,  the  chivalry  of  the  south  give 
way!  It  is  cavalry  Sheridan  who  routs  them!  Then  the 
sun  stood  at  its  meridian.  It  was  the  noon  of  all  glory, 
for  the  northern  crusaders,  doing  battle  in  the  just  cause. 
Oh,  the  chase,  the  rallies,  the  heroic  stands,  and  the  joy- 
ful return,  with  plunder!  But  the  corpse-strewn  field 
checked  their  paean.  Sire  and  son  lay  clasped  in  death, 
facing  each  other.  The  garb  of  one  was  gray,  of  the 


THE  INCENDIARY.  303 

other  blue.  Ambulances  issued  empty  from  the  hospital 
tents,  and  rode  back  groaning  with  the  wounded.  Nurses 
knelt  with  water  cups  at  the  dying  hero's  side.  And  until 
night  closed  over,  sorrow  mingled  with  joy  in  that 
bivouac  by  the  fresh-fought  field. 

A  loud  salvo  of  applause  told  that  the  singer  was  done. 
Emily  could  see  in  her  mind's  eye  the  ring  at  the  sidewalk 
edge,  arrested  in  the  course  of  meaner  thoughts  or  idle 
vacuity  by  his  heart-moving  story.  The  gift  of  Homer,  in 
a  humble  degree,  was  his ;  and  men  to-day  are  not  unlike 
what  they  were  3,000  years  ago.  Robert  had  long  since 
hushed  his  violin  and  stood  with  bow  suspended  in  air. 

"Emily !"  he  said  in  a  strange  tone. 

She  looked  at  him  and  started.  He  was  eying  her  so 
eagerly. 

"Emily!"  he  repeated. 

The  bow  dropped  from  his  hand.  He  reached  forward 
as  if  he  would  touch  her. 

"What  is  it,  Robert?"  she  asked. 

"The  water-lily.    You  are  still  wearing  it?" 

"Still  wearing  it,  Robert.    I  put  it  on  this  morning." 

Robert  uttered  a  cry. 

"It  comes  back!  It  comes  back!"  he  said.  "The  old 
singing  soldier  that  I  met  at  the  park  gate.  He  is  blind 
and  wears  a  brown  shade  over  one  eye.  His  hair  is  white 
when  he  takes  off  his  cap  and  passes  among  the  crowd. 
I  see  him  again!  I  see  it  all!" 

Robert's  gaze  was  far  away.  He  was  not  looking  at 
Emily,  yet  he  heard  her  voice. 

"When  was  this  all,  Robert?" 

"That  day,  the  day  of  the  fire.  I  could  not  remember 
before." 

She  repressed  a  throb  of  joy.  Was  it  indeed  returning? 
God  was  good.  He  had  at  last  answered  her  prayers. 

"And  the  water-lily,  Robert?" 

"Do  you  not  remember,  Emily,  that  I  brought  you 
one  that  evening?  It  was  the  first  of  the  season,  I  told 

you." 

"I  do— I  doP 


304  THE  INCENDIARY. 

"Search  out  the  old  gardener,  who  lives  in  the  lodge 
at  the  west  angle  of  the  park.  He  will  remember.  This 
is  the  first  of  the  season/  he  said.  He  will  remember  the 
date.  He  will  have  kept  some  memorandum." 

"And  you  talked  with  him,  Robert?" 

"We  are  friends  of  old.  He  will  remember  the  inci- 
dent— our  stroll  into  the  glen  where  the  little  pond  glis- 
tens, my  noting  the  one  white  flower  floating  among  the 
pads,  our  poling  the  flat-bottomed  boat  from  the  bank 
and  the  courteous  speech  of  presentation  he  made.  'For 
your  sweetheart/  he  said.  Oh,  it  is  as  plain  to  me  now  as 
the  sound  of  my  own  voice,  Emily.  How  could  I  ever 
have  forgotten?" 

"It  is  Providence  who  sent  us  the  old  singing  soldier," 
said  Emily.  "Let  us  thank  Him  for  His  mercy." 

Then  Robert  ran  over  detail  after  detail  of  that  after- 
noon, when  he  rambled  from  the  house,  burdened  with 
the  fresh  grief  of  his  uncle's  death — seeing  little,  hearing 
little,  mechanically  following  a  familiar  route,  all  his  outer 
senses  muffled,  as  it  were.  The  great  shock  of  the 
calamity  when  he  came  home  late  at  night  had  canceled 
even  the  feeble  impressions  that  lingered,  and  not  till 
the  voice  of  the  old  singing  soldier  came  to  his  ears  once 
more  was  the  impediment  removed. 

Now  the  events  rushed  upon  him,  few  in  number,  but 
clearly,  microscopically  outlined.  The  sight  of  the  lily 
brought  up  the  image  of  the  gardener.  He  could  no 
longer  be  suspected  of  hiding  himself  after  the  fire  or  of 
secret  escape  with  confederates,  or  of  other  conduct  that 
might  require  concealment  and  a  mask  of  affected  forget- 
fulness. 

"The  last  link  of  his  chain  is  broken,"  said  Emily,  joy- 
fully, meaning,  no  doubt,  the  great  inspector's.  This 
happy  turn  of  affairs  reconciled  her  more  than  anything 
else  to  her  vacation  trip,  and  it  was  a  gladsome  farewell 
the  sweethearts  took  that  day. 

On  her  way  through  the  city  she  heard  again  the  chant 
of  the  old  singing  soldier  and  a  gush  of  gratitude  im- 
pelled her  to  follow  him.  He  was  indeed  blind  and  wore 


THE  INCENDIARY.  305 

the  brown  shade  as  Robert  had  described.  A  little  girl 
clung  to  his  coat  and  guided  him  when  he  walked,  and 
the  cap  he  held  out  bore  the  initials  of  the  Grand  Army 
and  was  ribboned  with  silver  cord.  The  bystanders  stared 
at  the  sweet-faced  lady  who  laid  a  bill  in  the  maiden's 
hand  and  hurried  off  without  waiting  for  her  "Thank 
you,"  hurried  off  to  acquaint  Shagarach  of  the  glad,  good 
news. 

It  was  not  until  she  reached  the  upper  flight  of  the 
office  stairs  that  she  remembered  that  it  was  Shagarach's 
suggestion  that  she  wear  a  pond-lily  now  and  then  so  as 
to  start  if  possible  the  clogged  wheels  of  her  lover's 
recollection,  as  we  shake  a  stopped  watch  to  make  it 

go- 
There  was  a  similar  case,  too,  in  "The  Diseases  of 

Memory." 

''But  it  was  heaven,"  she  said,  "that  brought  us  the  old 
singing  soldier.'' 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

THE  OCEAN  NIGHT. 

"Tristram!" 

The  artist  started  at  his  sister's  voice.  He  had  been 
lounging  over  the  steamer's  side  watching  a  full-rigged 
ship  in  the  offing.  Its  majestic  sails  glistened  as  white  as 
snow,  but  the  heaving  motion  from  bow  to  stem  was  ap- 
parent even  at  that  distance.  For  the  sea  was  all  hills  and 
hollows,  and  the  Yarmouth  herself  lay  darkened  under 
the  shadow  of  a  cloud. 

"Let  me  break  in  on  your  reverie.     This  is  my  brotl 
—Miss  Barlow— Miss  Ware." 

"We  shall  have  a  storm,"  said  Tristram,  after 
formalities. 

"Oh  I  hope  not,"  cried  all  three  ladies.     They  had  I 
come  acquainted  while  watching  the  patent  log  on  the 


306  THE  INCENDIARY. 

saloon-deck  stern,  which  Beulah  Ware,  who  knew  almost 
everything,  had  explained  for  Rosalie's  information. 

"It  was  due  when  we  started/'  said  Tristram. 

"And  you  never  told  me,"  cried  Rosalie. 

"You  would  have  postponed  the  trip,  my  dear." 

"Make  everything  tight,"  came  the  cheery  voice  of  the 
captain.  "Get  your  wraps  on,  ladies.  It's  going  to  pour 
in  a  hurry." 

"Do  let  us  remain  outside,"  cried  Beulah.  "I've  noth- 
ing on  that  will  spoil,  under  a  waterproof." 

The  others  assented,  and  Tristram  and  Beulah  disap- 
peared for  a  few  moments,  returning  with  mackintoshes 
and  rubber  cloaks. 

"There,  you  look  like  fisher  folk,"  said  Tristram,  when 
the  ladies  had  pulled  the  cowls  of  their  glazed  garments 
over  their  heads. 

"And  romantic  for  the  first  time,  I  suppose,"  said 
Rosalie.  "Tristram  is  a  great  stickler  for  barbarism, 
you  know.'' 

"Esthetically,"  said  Tristram. 

"He  has  positive  ideas." 

"Of  negative  value." 

The  rain  had  begun  to  spatter  the  deck  beneath  them 
and  the  cool  wind  was  working  its  own  will  with  their 
garments.  They  were  almost  alone  on  the  quarter-deck. 
An  officer  eyed  them  loftily. 

"That  is  the  first  mate,"  said  Tristram. 

"How  can  you  tell?"  asked  Rosalie. 

"Because  he  is  so  far  off.  The  captain  is  always  ap- 
proachable. The  first  mate  is  rather  distant,  the  second 
mate  more  so.  The  third  mate  is  rarely  visible  to  the 
naked  eye." 

"Hear  that  bell,"  cried  Emily. 

A  ding-dong  clangor  resounded  through  the  ship. 

"Supper!  All  hands  to  supper!"  piped  the  steward. 
"Early  supper!  Captain's  orders!  Early  supper!" 

"Hang  the  captain's  orders!"  said  Tristram.  "This  is 
better  than  supper." 

But  the  foamy  crest  of  a  great  wave  that  was  level  with 


THE  INCENDIARY.  307 

the  bow  was  caught  just  then  by  the  wind  and  hurled 
up  in  their  faces.  The  ladies  sputtered,  drenched  with  the 
spray,  and  the  water  seethed  at  their  feet.  Of  course  they 
shrieked  and  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  descend  and 
repair  to  their  staterooms  to  prepare  for  the  supper. 

The  dishes  were  clattering  and  dancing  like  marion- 
ettes. Capt.  Keen  had  acted  wisely  in  ordering  an  early 
supper.  If  the  sea  increased  it  would  soon  be  impossible 
to  eat  at  all. 

"Isn't  this  superb?"  cried  the  enthusiast  again,  as  the 
vessel  perceptibly  rose  under  them,  but  she  fell  so  sud- 
denly that  he  probably  bit  his  tongue.  At  least  for  a 
moment  his  eloquence  abated. 

"Now  to  go  above  again,"  he  said  when  at  last  the 
tipping  of  the  dishes  made  satisfactory  eating  no  longer 
possible.  "What  a  rare  quality  portability  is!  The  port- 
able arts — music  and  poetry;  the  portable  instruments- 
fiddles,  flutes,  etc. ;  the  portable  eatables  (excuse  the  un- 
happy jingle) — oranges,  bananas,  biscuits." 

Suiting  the  word  to  the  action,  he  laid  in  a  liberal  sup- 
ply himself  and  pressed  as  much  more  on  each  of  the 
ladies.  He  was  not  so  unpractical  as  he  seemed,  our 
friend  Tristram,  with  all  his  badinage  and  transparent 
sophistries. 

"But  you  are  not  seriously  going  out  on  deck?"  cried 
his  sister  in  some  alarm,  when  he  made  for  the  stairs. 

"And  surely  you  are  not  going  to  remain  in?"  answered 
Tristram  in  feigned  astonishment.  "Lose  this  glorious 
sea  picture?  Atmosphere,  nature's  own  murk;  canvas, 
infinity;  music  furnished  by  old  Boreas  himself,  master 
of  Beethoven  and  Rubinstein;  accompaniments,  night, 
sleet,  danger  and  the  lightning.5' 

"I  fear  we  are  philistines,"  said  Beulah  Ware;  "we 
prefer  painted  storms  and  the  mimic  thunders  of  the 
symphony." 

"Accompaniment,  dry  dresses,"  added  Rosalie.  Where- 
upon Tristram  gallantly  saw  the  ladies  housed  in  his  sis- 
ter's cabin  and  left  them,  lunching  on  his  portable  eat- 
ables, but  not  a  little  anxious  while  he  himself  climbed 


308  THE  INCENDIARY. 

up  to  his  perch  on  the  quarter-deck.  The  sea  tumbled 
over  the  steamer  when  she  cut  her  way  into  a  billow,  but 
Tristram  had  drawn  on  thick  boots  and  felt  prepared  to 
rough  it. 

"Better  lash  yourself  down/'  cried  the  captain  warn- 
ingly.  The  artist's  answer  was  lost  in  the  tempest. 

There  was  little  sleep  for  the  passengers  on  the  Yar- 
mouth that  night.  Stewards  and  matrons  passed  about 
reassuring  them.  The  boat  was  seaworthy;  everything 
was  locked  in;  they  could  lie  on  their  pillows  with  an 
absolute  certainty  of  rising  on  the  morrow  with  the  Nova 
Scotia  shore  in  view.  Only  they  wouldn't.  They  dared 
not.  And  as  Rosalie  looked  as  timid  as  any  one,  her 
new  acquaintances  conspired  to  remain  with  her  in  her 
stateroom,  all  three  sharing  the  two  cots  and  getting  what 
naps  they  could. 

They  had  run  out  of  talk  and  were  almost  drowsing 
when  the  great  crash  came.  Have  you  felt  your  heart 
jump  when  a  pistol-shot  smites  the  silence?  No  crack  of 
land  ordnance  could  inspire  the  fear  that  resounding 
bump  did  in  the  breasts  of  the  apprehensive  girls. 

"A  rock!"  was  the  thought  of  each,  but  they  only  ex- 
pressed their  terror  in  an  inarticulate  shriek.  Then  the 
whimpering  of  women  and  the  cries  of  men  were  heard 
in  the  saloon. 

"We  are  sinking!"  cried  some  one,  and  the  girls  rushed 
out.  A  hundred  white-clad  forms  darted  to  and  fro  like 
gnats  in  a  swarm,  or  clung  together,  wringing  their  hands 
in  misery.  Some  of  the  men  fought  to  unbar  the  doors. 
But  they  were  bolted  from  the  outside.  The  whole  cabin 
was  penned  in  there  to  drown.  Then  each  one  felt  for 
his  dearest. 

"Tristram!"  moaned  Rosalie,  knocking  at  his  state- 
room door.  "Tristram!''  But  there  came  no  answer. 
"He  is  out  on  the  deck !  He  is  swept  away  and  drowned !" 
she  cried,  with  truer  tears  than  the  imagined  sorrows  of 
Desdemona  had  ever  drawn  from  her  eyes.  But  Tristram 
was  safe  in  the  pilot's  box,  where  Capt  Keen  was  signal- 
ing the  engineer  to  reverse  his  engines;  and  the  engineer, 


THE  INCENDIARY.  309 

shut  in  amid  the  deafening  clangor  of  his  machinery, 
ignorant  of  what  had  happened  but  trained  to  his  duty, 
obeyed  promptly  his  bell  and  forced  the  great  vessel 
back. 

The  headlights  of  the  Yarmouth  had  been  doused  out 
long  before,  and  there  was  no  lantern  that  could  live  in 
that  surge,  even  if  it  were  possible  to  hang  a  second  one 
aloft.  From  time  to  time  the  captain  had  ordered  a 
rocket  sent  up,  to  warn  approaching  vessels,  for  the  air 
was  densely  opaque.  Only  out  of  the  gloom  before  them, 
just  before  the  shock  came,  Tristram  could  see  a  long 
row  of  lights,  feeble  and  flickering.  His  imagination  con- 
structed the  broadside  of  a  steamship  about  them  and 
once  it  seemed  that  he  really  did  catch  a  vague,  shadowy 
outline.  But  the  reality  became  certain  to  another  sense. 
Before  the  Yarmouth's  engines  were  reversed  and  her 
bow  disengaged  itself,  a  wail  of  terror  reached  him  out 
of  the  night,  and  a  tearing  as  of  parted  timbers.  Then 
hoarse  shouts  were  heard  from  the  emptiness  soaring  high 
above  the  wind. 

"We  stove  in  her  side,"  said  the  captain.  Then  a  signal 
rocket,  hissing  into  the  quenching  rain,  told  him  of  his 
fellow's  distress.  The  Yarmouth  still  receded.  The 
double  row  of  lights  was  withdrawn  into  the  gloom.  But 
the  wailing  increased  and  from  the  covered  cabin  below 
rose  the  responsive  clamor  of  the  passengers. 

"Say  that  we  have  struck  a  vessel,"  telephoned  the 
captain  to  the  steward.  After  several  repetitions  the  mes- 
sage was  understood  and  it  quieted  the  half-clad  throng 
a  little.  But  anxiety  was  legible  on  every  face. 

Twice  more  the  signal  of  distress  went  up  and  the 
captain  answered  it,  though  helpless  to  assist.  Then  the 
air  was  blank. 

"Head  her  east,"  said  the  captain  to  the  pilot.  He  knew 
by  the  lights  that  the  other  vessel  was  pointed  to  the  lar- 
board when  she  crossed  his  bow.  He  could  not  back 
forever  or  heave  to  in  that  sea.  He  must  circumnavigate 
the  vessel  or  the  vortex  if  she  were  sunk.  So  he  nosed  his 


310  THE  INCENDIARY. 

prow  oceanward  into  the  teeth  of  the  wind.  Under  these 
circumstances  the  headway  of  his  boat  was  slow. 

"Ahoy!" 

Was  it  a  voice  from  the  darkness?  A  huge  wave  rose 
over  them  like  a  cliff  and  hurled  itself  against  the  strong 
glass  of  the  pilot's  window.  In  a  moment  they  were 
soused  and  the  wind  blowing  in  upon  them  told  them 
that  their  brittle  sheath  was  shattered.  But  the  electric 
globes  still  cast  their  white  gleams  over  the  foredeck  and 
revealed  a  dark  object  that  was  not  there  before. 

"A  boat!"  cried  Tristram. 

"Save  them!"  shouted  Capt.  Keen,  rushing  down  the 
steps,  with  the  artist  at  his  heels.  It  was  indeed  a  life- 
boat, which  had  been  carried  on  the  crest  of  a  billow  clear 
over  the  Yarmouth's  gunwale  and  left  high,  if  not  dry. 
Only  five  forms  could  be  seen — three  of  them  stirring,  the 
other  two  motionless.  All  were  men. 

"Climb !"  shouted  Keen,  seizing  one  of  the  limp  bodies 
in  his  arms.  Tristram  caught  up  the  other  and  staggered 
back  in  the  direction  of  the  light,  the  three  wrecked  men 
following  and  grappling  at  them  in  their  bewilderment. 
Another  wave  like  the  last  and  they  were  lost,  all  seven. 
But  these  great  surges  come  in  rhythmic  intervals.  Res- 
cuers and  rescued  reached  the  pilot  house  in  safety. 

"Who  are  you,  shipmates?"  asked  the  captain,  pouring 
brandy  down  the  mouths  of  the  unconscious  men.  The 
others  answered  in  German. 

"The  Hamburg  liner,  Osric,"  translated  Tristram. 
"She  broke  her  rudder  and  was  driven  off  her  course  by 
the  gale." 

"Heaven  save  us  from  meeting  any  more  such  drift- 
wood," said  the  pilot  unsteadily  with  a  hiccough. 

"Were  any  other  boats  out?"  asked  Capt.  Keen.  Tris- 
tram interpreted  question  and  answer. 

"Two  others,  but  they  were  swamped.  All  on  board 
are  lost." 

A  thrill  went  through  the  strong  men.  Usage  does 
not  render  sailors  callous  to  the  perils  of  the  sea.  Death 
under  the  ocean  is  still  the  most  awe-inspiring  of  fates — 


THE  INCENDIARY.  311 

the  doom  of  the  irrecoverable  body,  of  the  skeleton  lying 
on  the  bottom,  like  a  coral  freak. 

"Mostly  immigrants  from  Germany  and  Sweden,"  an- 
swered the  spokesman  to  the  next  question.  All  five 
were  common  sailors.  They  had  waited  their  turn  and 
the  captain  had  ordered  them  into  the  lifeboat  when  it 
came.  He  himself  had  stood  by  his  sinking  ship  to  the 
end. 

In  a  lull  of  the  breaking  seas,  Tristram  and  Capt.  Keen 
picked  their  way  down  into  the  cabin.  The  captain's  ap- 
pearance was  a  signal  for  a  cheer.  He  addressed  the 
passengers  briefly,  outlined  the  terrible  event  and  assured 
them  that,  as  lightning  never  strikes  twice  in  the  same 
spot,  they  might  turn  in  and  count  on  a  clear  voyage 
oceanward  for  the  rest  of  the  night.  He  could  not  control 
the  weather  or  promise  them  sleep.  But  he  felt  so  safe 
himself  that  he  had  just  come  down  to  retire  for  his  own 
spell  of  slumber. 

This  little  lie  was  one  of  those  which  the  recording 
angel  will  blot  away  with  tears.  The  old  salt  would  no 
more  have  slept  that  night  than  he  would  have  taken  a 
dose  of  poison.  Even  for  the  few  minutes  he  was  below 
he  had  been  as  uneasy  within  as  a  young  mother  when 
she  sees  her  baby  in  the  arms  of  some  one  whose  care- 
lessness she  has  good  reason  to  dread.  The  pilot  was  in 
liquor,  and  Capt.  Keen,  making  a  quick  tour  aft  so  that 
every  one  might  get  a  view  of  him  and  a  cheery  word, 
together  with  a  brazen  repetition  of  his  salutary  invention, 
simply  turned  into  the  cook's  room  forward  and  swung 
himself  out  by  its  skylight-hatch.  Meanwhile  Tristram 
elbowed  his  way  through  the  crowd  to  Rosalie.  His  re- 
appearance soothed  her,  but  she  was  still  hysterical,  and 
the  good  offices  of  the  other  two  ladies  were  found  sea- 
sonable during  the  night. 


312  THE  INCENDIARY. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

ON  DIGBY  SHORE. 

Daylight  rose,  gray  and  hollow-eyed,  on  the  Atlantic. 
The  sun  was  merely  a  moving  brightness  in  the  sky. 
Ocean,  the  blind  Titan,  still  heaved  and  roared,  playing 
his  part  in  some  grander  drama  than  ours  of  flesh  and 
blood — ingulfing  sailor  or  bark  as  we  crush  the  poor 
gnat  toward  whom  neither  pagan  sage  nor  Christian 
doctor  enjoins  mercy — cruel  without  enmity,  indifferent 
without  contempt,  divider  or  uniter  of  continents  accord- 
ing to  his  chance-born  mood. 

The  storm  had  scarcely  begun  to  die.  But  with  a  clear 
outlook  forward  it  was  possible  once  more  for  the  sturdy 
Yarmouth  to  resume  her  course.  With  Capt  Keen  him- 
self at  the  wheel,  she  steamed  into  the  narrow  harbor  of 
the  little  city  whose  name  she  bore,  situated  on  the  near- 
est eastward  tip  of  the  Nova  Scotia  peninsula,  half  a  day 
late,  but  with  her  300  passengers  safe  and  sound. 

Several  days  later,  our  party  of  four  were  peacefully 
rowing  across  the  calm  waters  of  Digby  bay — that  isleless 
harbor  of  purest  ultramarine,  where  the  Bay  of  Fundy 
has  cloven  its  way  through  peaks  still  wooded  to  the 
water's  edge  and  lifts  and  lowers  its  huge  tides  as  far 
north  as  Annapolis,  at  the  head  of  the  valley  of  Evange- 
line.  Chance  would  have  it  that  this  resort  was  the  desti- 
nation of  the  Marches  as  well  as  Emily  and  Beulah;  and 
the  acquaintance  made  on  shipboard  under  such  unusual 
circumstances  was  already  ripening  into  something  like 
friendship — perhaps  more  than  friendship — between  Tris- 
tram and  Beulah  Ware. 

She  was  his  opposite,  his  complementary  color,  as  he 
said  to  Rosalie,  and  so  she  harmonized  with  him  and  per- 
haps comprehended  him,  as  Rosalie  at  times  did  not.  In 
only  one  thing  did  she  agree  with  Tristram's  sister.  She 


THE  INCENDIARY.  313 

misunderstood  his  irony;  for  her  own  speech  was  yea, 
yea. 

"Let  us  cross  over  to  the  camp  of  the  Micmacs,"  pro- 
posed the  artist,  resting  on  his  oars. 

"Are  they  real  Indians?"  asked  Emily. 

"Full-blooded.  See  their  tepees."  A  cluster  of  conical 
tents  could  be  seen  rising  from  the  dark  foliage  on  the 
hillside.  For  Digby  rises  from  the  water  with  a  slope  like 
a  toboggan  slide  all  the  way  up  to  the  white  cottages  on 
its  crest. 

"There  is  a  specimen,"  said  Tristram,  as  a  canoe 
skimmed  by  them.  "Isn't  he  noble?  The  great  face,  the 
grim  mouth,  the  high  cheek-bones,  the  straight  hair — it  is 
a  bronze  mask  of  Saturn.  I  may  utilize  him." 

"When?" 

"When  I  carve  my  life  group  for  the  Academy's  grand 
prize.'' 

"Have  you  chosen  your  subject?" 

"Driftwood  Pickers  at  the  Sea  Level." 

Beulah  Ware  looked  up.  She  had  suggested  it  the  day 
before,  while  strolling  alone  with  the  man  of  hazy  pur- 
poses. 

The  boat  was  beached  without  difficulty  and  the  ladies 
stepped  ashore — Beulah  Ware  collectedly,  as  usual,  but 
Emily  and  Rosalie  as  warily  as  you  may  have  seen  a  lame 
pigeon  alighting. 

"Let  us  follow  my  leader,"  said  Tristram,  meaning  the 
brown  canoeist,  who  had  shouldered  his  craft  and  was 
climbing  the  beach. 

"What  is  that?"  cried  Emily,  pointing  to  an  object  that 
was  tossing  on  the  sands. 

"A  body,"  said  the  others,  recoiling,  but  Tristram 
walked  in  the  direction  indicated.  It  proved  on  closer 
inspection  to  be  the  body  of  a  woman,  stout  and  tall.  Her 
long  yellow  hair  floated  in  the  surf,  but  the  features  were 
swollen  beyond  recognition.  It  was  impossible  to  tell 
whether  she  was  old  or  young.  Only  her  clothing,  which 
was  thick  and  of  foreign  style,  denoted  a  woman  of  the 
poorer  class. 


314  THE  INCENDIARY. 

"Is  it  a  body?''  asked  Rosalie,  apparently  doubting  the 
evidence  of  her  eyes.  The  quick  assemblage  of  a  crowd 
rendered  an  answer  unnecessary.  There  were  men  and 
women  watching  all  along  the  Nova  Scotia  coast  in  those 
weary  days.  Schooners  and  smacks  had  put  out  before 
the  storm,  perhaps  to  be  blown  far  out  of  their  course  and 
suffer  the  hardships  of  hunger  and  shipwreck,  perhaps  to 
founder  in  midocean  and  never  to  return.  So  the  body 
rolling  in  the  surf  at  the  water's  edge  had  been  espied  by 
others  before  the  party  of  four  landed,  and  there  was  a 
converging  stream  of  searchers  from  bush  and  cottage, 
and  even  from  the  lonely  tepees. 

"Search  her  pockets,"  said  one,  and  the  woman's  dress 
was  torn  open.  A  packet  of  papers  came  out,  but  the 
ink  had  run  and  the  paper  was  as  soft  as  jelly. 

"She  has  been  in  the  water  a  week,"  cried  another. 

"Perhaps  it  is  a  body  from  the  Osric,"  suggested  a 
boy. 

The  party  of  four  shrunk  in  greater  horror.  There 
were  rumors  of  lifeboats  that  had  been  launched  and 
swamped  from  the  sunken  steamer.  Could  one  of  the 
bodies  have  been  carried  up  the  Bay  of  Fundy  on  its 
swift-running  tide,  forced  by  a  current  through  Digby 
Gut,  and  cast  ashore  on  this  unfrequented  beach? 

"See  if  her  linen  is  marked?"  asked  a  woman  who  held 
a  baby.  But  the  search  proved  fruitless.  No  stenciled 
initials,  not  even  a  brand  on  the  shoes,  to  identify  the 
unfortunate.  A  truck  was  suggested  to  carry  her  up  to 
the  town. 

"One  moment,"  said  Tristram,  "her  ring  may  be  en- 
graved." 

The  slender  gold  circlet  was  deeply  imbedded  in  the 
flesh,  but  a  fisherman  ruthlessly  cut  it  loose  with  his 
knife.  Tristram  held  it  up  to  the  light  and  read  a  name 
from  the  inside. 

"Bertha  Lund,"  he  read. 

Emily  Barlow  turned  pale  and  glanced  at  Beulah 
Ware.  If  she  could  have  looked  across  the  ocean  to  the 
city  just  then  and  seen  Inspector  McCausland  closeted 


THE  INCENDIARY.  315 

with  the  district  attorney,  she  would  have  been  con- 
firmed in  her  fears.  The  detective  was  scanning  a  list  of 
the  passengers  on  the  Osric. 

"Bertha  Lund,  Upsala,  Sweden.  That  is  her  birthplace. 
She  was  to  return  on  the  Osric,"  he  said,  uneasily. 

"Then  it  must  be  she,"  answered  the  district  attorney. 
"It  is  most  unfortunate.  However,  we  have  her  testi- 
mony at  the  hearing.  We  do  not  rely  solely  upon  her." 

But  Emily  did  rely  solely  upon  Bertha's  knowledge, 
and  her  heart  sunk  within  her.  Without  Bertha,  there 
was  only  Robert  to  describe  the  room  as  she  wished  it 
described.  And  would  people  believe  Robert  in  so  novel, 
so  miraculous,  a  junction  of  circumstances  as  her  theory 
demanded? 

"Read  that  again,  please,"  she  cried  to  Tristram. 

"Bertha  Lund,"  Tristram  seemed  puzzled  a  moment  by 
the  third  word,  "Bertha  Lund,  Upsala." 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

TURNPIKE  TOLL. 

"So  to-morrow  is  the  day  of  the  trial,  Miss  Barlow?" 

Mrs.  Riley  was  pinning  the  bandage  on  Walter's  neck, 
while  Emily  buttoned  his  jacket.  She  and  the  quondam 
Whistler  had  become  fast  friends,  especially  since  the  day 
of  the  struggle  in  Shagarach's  office,  and  now  that  his 
burns  were  healing  and  he  was  able  to  get  out  they  had 
arranged  a  Sunday  afternoon  excursion  to  Hemlock 
grove,  with  some  vague  hope  of  visiting  the  site  of  the 
demolished  hut,  if  Walter's  strength  could  carry  him  so 
far.  There  would  be  no  lack  of  guides,  for  the  spot  had 
already  become  locally  famous. 

"Yes,"  answered  Emily,  "the  talesmen  have  been  sifted 
down  to  twelve  at  last." 

"May  the  good  Lord  put  mercy  in  their  hearts,  prayed 
Mrs.  Riley. 


316  THE  INCENDIARY. 

"I  wish  it  was  a  jury  of  ladies,"  said  Walter. 

"Why,  ladies  are  never  selected  for  the  jury,"  cried  his 
mother. 

"Jurywomen  is  a  word  not  yet  included  in  the  diction- 
aries," smiled  Emily. 

"But  they  are  all  so  kind,"  said  Walter  simply,  but 
in  such  a  way  that  his  mother  and  Emily  might  each  take 
half  of  the  compliment.  The  bright  slum  boy  was  al- 
ready losing  all  trace  of  his  plebeian  associations,  as  the 
innate  aristocracy  of  his  nature  asserted  itself.  How 
luckily  he  was  placed,  if  he  could  have  foreseen.  To  be- 
gin at  the  lower-most  round  of  the  ladder,  but  with  the 
unconquerable  instinct  in  him  to  climb;  and  so  at  last, 
on  the  topmost  round,  to  have  the  whole  of  life  for  a 
retrospect. 

Mrs.  Riley  bade  them  a  proud  good-by  and  watched 
them  from  her  window  boarding  the  car.  The  downtown 
ride  on  a  Sunday  is  always  curious,  for  the  desertion  of 
the  usually  crowded  streets  gives  them  a  foreign  appear- 
ance. Emily  was  commenting  on  this  when  Walter 
called  her  attention  to  something  in  the  sky. 

"Look,  it's  a  man,"  he  said,  pointing  almost  vertically 
upward. 

"Where?"  she  asked,  leaning  forward. 

"On  the  top  of  the  Amory  building.  He  is  calling  for 
help." 

The  Amory  building  was  the  tallest  structure  in  the 
city,  the  tenants  in  the  sixteenth  story  enjoying  a  view 
that  swept  in  the  entire  harbor  and  flattened  the  men 
walking  in  the  avenues  below  to  the  dimensions  of  crawl- 
ing flies. 

"We  can  change  cars  here,  Walter.  Let  us  get  off  and 
see." 

From  the  sidewalk  Emily  could  distinguish  the  minute 
figure  of  a  man  leaning  over  the  parapet  around  the  roof, 
and  shouting  through  his  hands  to  attract  attention. 

"Perhaps  it  is  on  fire,"  she  said  in  alarm,  framing  the 
thought  that  lay  uppermost  in  her  mind. 

"I  think  he  wants  to  get  down,"  suggested  Walter,  al- 


THE  INCENDIARY.  317 

though  not  a  word  of  the  man's  vociferations  could  be 
heard. 

"Let  us  speak  to  the  policeman,"  said  Emily,  just  as  a 
large  hat  came  sailing  down  on  Walter's  head.  It  crossed 
her  mind  that  the  broad  brim  had  a  familiar  look.  The 
patrolman  followed  her  index  finger  with  his  glance  and 
presently  there  was  a  knot  of  passers-by  doing  likewise. 
Then  the  knot  grew  to  a  crowd,  and  the  crowd  to  a 
multitude.  Meanwhile  the  officer  had  hunted  up  the 
janitor  of  the  building  and  both  entered  through  the  great 
carved  doors.  About  five  minutes  later  they  came  down, 
with  a  heavily  laden,  portly  gentleman,  who  seemed 
taken  aback  when  the  crowd  hurrahed  him. 

"Dr.  Silsby!"  cried  Emily.  He  looked  about  in  sur- 
prise. 

"Miss  Barlow,"  he  said,  shaking  his  head,  "here's  a 
to-do.  I  suppose  you'll  go  right  over  and  tell  that  Rob." 

"Tell  him  what?" 

"Tell  him  I  got  lost  in  the  heart  of  the  city  I  was  born 
in,"  grumbled  the  botanist  so  that  she  could  hardly  help 
laughing.  "Well,  what  are  you  sniggling  at?"  he  shouted 
at  the  crowd,  who  fell  back  a  little  at  this. 

"And  were  you  lost  up  there?" 

"Haven't  had  a  bite  to  eat  since  yesterday  noon.  Made 
a  call  on  that  ninny,  Hodgkins,  about  his  confounded 
will.  Judge  is  going  to  decide  against  him  and  we'll  have 
our  academia  after  all.'' 

"Good!  Good!"  cried  Emily,  clapping  her  hands. 

"Office  on  the  sixteenth  floor.    Ninny  was  out.    Took 
my  specimens  up  to  the  roof.    Got  worked  up.    Scnbbl 
notes  for  my  new  lecture  on " 

"I  know.  Rob  told  me.  On  the  beneficent  activity 
of  the  great  horned  owl.  How  interesting!" 

Dr.  Silsby  glared. 

"Janitor  missed  me.  Didn't  notice  the  time.  Locked 
out.  Slept  four  hours  all  night,  and  now  I'm  hoarse  from 
bawling  ten.  What's  the  matter  with  Sleepy  Hollow? 
Are  they  all  in  bed?" 


318  THE  INCENDIARY. 

"Why,  this  is  Sunday  morning,"  explained  Emily, 
repressing  her  merriment. 

"They  ought  to  have  ladders  up  there,  so  a  man  could 
climb  down,"  grumbled  Dr.  Silsby. 

Walter  thought  this  a  somewhat  unreasonable  de- 
mand. 

"You  might  have  descended  by  the  mail  chute,"  said 
Emily,  laughing  outright,  "and  then  the  postman  would 
have  collected  you  just  before  breakfast." 

The  learned  doctor  made  no  reply,  so  they  left  him 
shuffling  away  in  search  of  a  restaurant. 

"I  do  hope  Judge  Dunder  will  allow  the  will,"  she 
said;  and  it  took  the  whole  ride  to  explain  the  why  of 
this  hope  to  her  eager  auditor. 

At  Woodlawn  they  were  directed  to  Hemlock  grove 
and  wandered  among  its  dark  trees,  peace-breathing  in 
themselves,  but  haunted  for  them  by  the  vague  pervasive 
shadow  of  a  tragedy.  The  hut  was  too  far  for  Walter's 
strength,  so  they  turned  off  at  an  angle,  following  a  foot- 
path which  they  knew  would  lead  to  some  road.  Once 
or  twice  they  heard  a  murmur  of  voices,  seeming  to  come 
from  the  left.  It  was  very  deep  and  indistinct  and  not 
unlike  the  mooing  of  a  cow.  But  her  bell  would  have 
tinkled  if  it  had  really  been  a  stray  tenant  of  the  milk- 
shed. 

"What  is  it,  Waker?"  asked  Emily.  It  had  sounded 
again,  this  time  more  humanly  and  close  to  their  ears. 
They  had  been  moving  toward  it  unawares. 

Walter  only  clutched  her  arm  in  answer. 

"Look!"  he  said,  and  she  saw  his  eyes  white  with 
distension  of  the  lids.  "It  is  the  oaf." 

Through  a  parting  in  the  boughs  Emily  saw  the  sight. 
There  was  a  little  cemetery  near  by,  unpretending  but 
neat  with  scattered  headstones.  In  the  midst  of  it,  kneel- 
ing with  his  forehead  bared  and  his  eyes  up-lifted,  was  the 
human  monster  who  had  woven  himself  into  their  life  so 
terribly.  What  was  he  doing?  Should  she  run?  Her 
first  impulse  was  to  fly,  but  a  fascination  held  her.  The 
oaf's  face  was  averted  and  they  were  screened  from  his 
gaze. 


THE  INCENDIARY.  319 

Looked  at  now,  the  creature's  countenance  was  less  re- 
pulsive than  she  had  thought.  Emily  had  only  seen  it 
convulsed  with  murderous  passion,  and  those  who  had 
described  it  to  her  had  beheld  it  under  similar  circum- 
stances. Yet  at  best  it  was  horribly  misshapen. 

"Is  he  crying?"  asked  Walter.  Strange  to  say,  the  oaf 
seemed  to  be  shedding  tears  and  the  quick  sympathy  went 
out  from  Emily's  bosom,  in  spite  of  the  past. 

"Hark!" 

Emily  pulled  Walter  back,  as  he  leaned  forward  too 
eagerly  to  catch  what  he  was  saying. 

The  oaf  moaned  in  a  guttural  tone  that  swelled  to  its 
close,  crescendo.  Then  he  threw  himself  on  the  mound 
before  which  he  knelt. 

It  was  a  grave.  No  headstone  covered  it.  The 
mourners  of  the  dead  who  house  there  were  either  for- 
getful or  poor.  But  strange  little  bunches  of  withered 
wild  flowers  were  strewn  upon  it.  And  a  heap  of  fresher 
flowers  lay  at  one  side.  What  was  the  monster  doing? 

With  his  fingers  he  scooped  out  hollows  in  the  earth, 
then  lifted  the  cut  daisies  and  buttercups  he  had  brought, 
with  many  a  late  violet  and  honeysuckle,  and  laid  their 
stalks  one  by  one  in  the  cavities.  Holding  them  in  place, 
he  propped  them  up  with  the  loosened  earth,  till  all  along 
the  narrow  mound  there  was  a  bloom  of  red  and  yellow 
and  blue.  Then  the  oaf  rose  and  looked  down  upon  his 
work,  with  a  childish  pleasure. 

"Does  he  think  they  will  grow  that  way?''  asked  Walter, 
but  Emily  put  her  finger  on  her  lips.  The  oaf  began 
muttering  in  a  low,  indistinct  murmur,  like  one  soothing 
a  child. 

Suddenly  he  drew  his  soiled  hands  across  his  brow. 
The  streaks  of  earth  added  to  his  hideousness  and  his  ex- 
pression had  changed.  Some  new  current  of  thought 
was  in  his  mind.  He  ground  his  teeth,  as  Walter  had  seen 
him  in  Shagarach's  office,  and  roared  with  fists  clenched 
at  some  invisible  adversary. 

"Run,  run,"  called  Walter,  dragging  Emily  with  him 
along  the  Httle  footpath — on,  on.  They  could  hear  their 


320  THE  INCENDIARY. 

own  footsteps  echoed  behind,  but  the  roars  did  not  ap- 
pear to  be  gaining  on  them. 

"Faster!  Faster!"  urged  Emily,  as  Walter  weakened. 
The  briers  scratched  her  dress,  the  boughs  brushed  in  her 
face,  but  what  were  these  to  the  monster  behind  them? 
She  dared  not  turn,  lest  his  fierce  eyes  should  be  glaring 
into  hers  and  his  grimy  hands  clutch  at  her  flying  hair. 

"I  cannot  keep  up,"  cried  Walter  breathing  hard,  when 
they  had  covered  a  quarter  of  a  mile. 

"Oh,  Walter,  try!"  cried  Emily,  dragging  him  in  her 
turn. 

"I  cannot.  I  can  only  walk.  He  is  not  behind  us,'' 
he  added.  Emily  slowed  up  and  peeped  around  timidly. 
The  expected  image  did  not  confront  her.  The  woods 
had  a  less  lonely  look  here,  but  they  were  perfectly  still. 

"Have  we  escaped  him?"  she  said,  all  flushed  and  out 
of  breath.  Without  the  wings  of  fear,  she  could  not  have 
run  a  third  of  the  distance. 

Walter  held  his  breath  to  listen  before  he  answered. 
There  was  not  a  stir  in  the  woods  save  the  sighing  of  the 
leaves. 

"Let  us  walk  on  fast,5'  he  said,  and  Emily  was  glad  to 
moderate  her  pace.  But  they  had  not  proceeded  twenty 
steps,  when  again  she  started  off,  dragging  Walter  by  the 
hand.  This  time  the  sound  was  on  their  right.  The  oaf 
had  crossed  the  path  and  was  tearing  through  the  woods. 
With  the  advantage  of  the  smooth  path  they  might  out- 
strip him  and  get  to  the  road,  where  succor  could  be  had. 

"Oh,  I  cannot  go  farther,''  cried  Emily,  fainting. 
"Leave  me,  Walter,  and  bring  help  as  soon  as  you  can.'' 
The  elastic  sinews  of  the  boy  had  recovered  their  strength 
and  he  was  now  the  fresher  of  the  two. 

"Only  a  little  farther,  Miss  Barlow.  I  can  see  the  road 
through  the  trees." 

The  pursuer  seemed  to  have  slowed  his  own  pace  to 
a  walk.  Once  they  caught  a  glimpse  of  his  form.  He 
was  not  aiming  at  them  straight  but  slantingly  toward  the 
road,  as  if  he  would  head  them  off.  At  present  he  was 
almost  abreast  and  gaining. 


THE  INCENDIARY.  321 

"There  is  the  road  and  a  cottage,"  said  Walter,  but  the 
pursuer  was  ahead  of  them  now,  running  swiftly.  They 
could  see  him  leap  the  wall  only  ten  paces  off,  just  as  they 
emerged  from  the  footpath.  Bewildered  and  spent,  Emily 
turned  the  wrong  way  and  ran  straight  into  the  arms  of 
Mr.  Arthur  Kennedy  Foxhall. 

"Turnpike  toll!"  exclaimed  the  manikin,  deliriously 
prolonging  the  accidental  embrace,  while  Emily  strove 
to  tear  herself  away  in  a  flurry  of  amazement,  horror  and 
disgust. 

"Let  her  alone!"  cried  Walter,  clutching  at  Kennedy's 
neck.  But  the  manikin  took  no  account  of  the  boy, 
merely  cuffing  him  over  the  ears,  and  endeavoring  to 
force  a  kiss  upon  Emily. 

"Forgive  me,  Emily — Miss  Barlow,"  he  said  at  last, 
while  she  stood  flaming  like  a  rose  with  indignation. 
"Forgive  me  if  I  press  my  suit  too  ardently " 

But  he  was  not  afforded  an  opportunity  to  continue  his 
amorous  speech.  Walter  Riley  possessed  a  spirit  which 
rose  against  cuffing.  Weak  and  weary  as  he  was,  he  drew 
off  after  a  moment's  survey,  to  get  the  import  of  the  con- 
versation, and  sent  the  manikin  spinning  with  a  blow 
that  brought  blood  drops  from  his  nose.  Kennedy  felt  the 
trickling  organ  in  momentary  confusion,  but  before  his 
idol  he  could  not  show  the  white  feather. 

Whack!  Whack!  He  brought  his  cane — bulldog  end 
for  a  handle — down  on  the  boy's  shoulder,  neck  and  head 
— bursting  the  bandages  over  his  still  acutely  tender 
burns.  Walter  clinched,  but  Kennedy  threw  him  off  and 
continued  his  caning.  Even  Emily's  intercession  only 
brought  her  a  smart  rap  over  the  fingers  with  which  she 
tried  to  grasp  his  weapon. 

"You  brute !"  she  exclaimed,  and  threw  herself  between 
Kennedy  and  the  boy.  But  help  from  another  quarter 
was  at  hand.  A  tall,  lithe  form  vaulted  a  neighboring  wall 
and  the  swish  of  a  horsewhip  cut  the  air.  It  must  have 
cut  something  else,  for  Kennedy  hopped  and  turned,  and 
presently  was  capering  with  as  much  agility  as  if  the 
ground  were  redhot  iron.  Emily  could  hear  the  repeated 


322  THE  INCENDIARY. 

swishes  and  the  manikin's  supplications,  but  she  did  not 
look  up.  She  was  stroking  Walter's  forehead.  The  boy 
had  fainted  in  her  arms. 

"It's  me,  Harry.    It's  Kennedy.    Don't  you  know  me?'' 

This  cry  caused  her  to  turn. 

"It's  a  coward.    Run." 

Emily  had  heard  the  voice  only  once  before,  in  that 
eventful  ride  to  Hillsborough ;  but  she  would  have  known 
Harry  Arnold  instantly  from  his  photograph.  How 
broad-chested  he  was!  How  superb!  Yet  there  was 
something  feverish  in  his  excitement  now.  He  came  to- 
ward her,  raising  his  hat. 

"I  have  to  apologize  for  a  slight  acquaintance  with  that 
blackguard,  which  led  me  to  refuse  at  first  to  credit  his 
conduct.  Otherwise  I  might  have  been  of  assistance 
earlier." 

"Slight  acquaintance?  You  owe  me  twelve  hundred 
and  by  George  you'll  pay  it,"  snarled  Kennedy,  moving 
away.  Harry  never  turned. 

"The  boy  has  fainted.    He  must  come  up  to  the  house." 

The  "cottage"  in  view,  then,  was  the  Arnold  house.  A 
carriage  stood  in  front  of  the  terrace  at  the  head  of  the 
gravel  drive  which  led  up  from  the  turnpike.  Harry 
had  probably  just  arrived  home  from  an  afternoon  spin 
through  the  suburbs. 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Arnold ''  Emily  stopped,  but  the 

mischief  was  out.  Harry  had  lifted  the  unconscious  boy 
tenderly  in  his  strong  arms  and  was  carrying  him  up  the 
drive.  He  turned  and  smiled,  showing  his  beautiful  teeth, 
but,  seeing  Emily's  confusion,  did  not  speak  the  words 
that  were  on  his  lips.  Inside  the  house  he  called  for 
Indigo. 

"Some  wine,"  he  ordered. 

"And  a  little  sweet  oil,  if  you  have  it,"  added  Emily; 
for  the  neck  bandage  had  been  torn  away  and  the  vitriol 
burn  was  bleeding  from  one  of  Kennedy's  blows. 

"This  is  Walter  Riley,"  said  Emily,  at  last  recovering 
from  her  embarrassment,  "Mr.  Shagarach's  clerk,  who 
was  assaulted  about  ten  days  ago." 


THE  INCENDIARY.  323 

She  studied  Harry's  face  as  she  bathed  the  tender  part 
with  the  sweet  oil  and  poor,  sick-eyed  Walter  revived 
under  the  wine.  But  there  was  no  expression  other  than 
one  of  surprise  crossed  with  sympathy. 

"And  yourself,  may  I  ask?" 

"I  am  Miss  Barlow." 

Harry's  astonishment  reached  a  climax  at  this,  but 
he  was  too  well  bred  to  display  it. 

"I  am  delighted  to  have  you  for  my  guest,  Miss  Bar- 
low. It  is  unfortunate  that  my  mother  is  not  at  home. 
We  have  both  admired  your  efforts  in  behalf  of  Rob. 
And  Miss  March  was  just  speaking  of  you.'' 

By  the  time  that  Walter  was  ready  to  go  home,  Emily 
had  fixed  with  feminine  absoluteness  her  opinion  about 
Harry's  innocence. 

But  then  she  was  under  a  heavy  debt  to  Harry.  He 
had  rid  her  once  for  all  of  the  impertinences  of  Mr. 
Arthur  Kennedy  Foxhall. 


CHAPTER   XLVII. 

THE  HEEL  OF  ACHILLES. 

"I  shall  be  compelled  to  alter  my  theory  at  one  point," 

said  Shagarach. 

"Yet  your  general  conviction  remains  unchanged?" 
"Absolutely.    Your  cousin  is  capable  of  the  crime.    A 

powerful  motive  was  present.    We  have  traced  him  to 

the  door  of  the  room.    What  factor  is  wanting?" 

"I  cannot  believe  it  of  Harry,"  said  Robert,  shaking 

his  head  doubtfully.    "But  what  has  occurred  to  cause 

you  to  reconstruct  your  theory?" 

"My  interview  with  Dr.  Whipple,  his  physician." 

"Harry  was  ill  at  the  time,  I  believe?" 

"He  is  able  to  prove  an  alibi." 

"A  hard  obstacle  to  get  over,"  said  Robert 

"But  not  insurmountable,"  replied  the  lawyer.    "Dr. 


324  THE  INCENDIARY. 

Whipple  happens  to  be  the  most  methodical  of  men.  'At 
3:48  p.  m.,  on  Saturday,  June  28,  I  took  Mr.  Harry 
Arnold's  pulse  in  his  own  room  at  Woodlawn,'  said  he, 
consulting  his  notes.  'It  was  eighty-three  beats  to  the 
minute.' " 

"Rather  high,"  said  Robert. 

"  'Abnormal,'  Dr.  Whipple  observed,  'something  on 
his  mind,  I  should  say.  Overexcitement,  worry,  the  fever 
of  modern  life.'  His  diagnosis  was  incorrect;  but  the 
time  is  important  The  fire  was  discovered,  you  remem- 
ber, at  3:30." 

"So  Harry  couldn't  have  set  it  and  got  to  Woodlawn/' 
said  Robert,  as  if  sincerely  glad. 

"Not  in  his  mother's  carriage,  as  I  had  surmised,"  said 
Shagarach.  "But  an  express  train  leaves  the  Southern 
depot  at  3:29.  It  arrives  in  Woodlawn  at  3:45.  Harry 
crossed  Broad  street  from  the  passageway  after  setting 
fire  to  the  study — it  is  barely  a  minute's  walk — there 
caught  the  train  and  reached  Woodlawn  at  3:45.  His 
house  is  close  to  the  station.  Dr.  Whipple  found  him  fe- 
verish and  with  rapid  pulse  from  the  excitement  of  his 
crime  and  the  hurried  escape." 

"His  mother  stated,  however,  when  she  called,  earlier 
in  the  afternoon,  that  she  had  left  him  at  home  ill,"  said 
Robert,  thoughtfully. 

"She  is  solicitous  about  his  delicate  health,"  said  Shaga- 
rach, with  almost  imperceptible  irony.  The  delicate 
health  of  the  powerful  canoeist,  the  victorious  steeple- 
chaser, need  hardly  weigh  on  the  most  tender  mother's 
mind.  This  was  their  last  consultation  before  the  trial, 
and  the  lawyer  shook  Robert's  hand  with  a  word  of  en- 
couragement when  he  left  the  young  man  to  his  hopes 
and  forebodings. 

The  lawyer  turned  into  a  byway  which  carried  him 
through  the  Ghetto. 

Solomon  and  Rachel  were  sitting  on  their  doorsteps, 
fanning  away  the  heat  of  the  August  afternoon. 

"There  goes  Shagarach,"  said  some  one. 


THE  INCENDIARY.  325 

"He  who  fawns  on  the  gentiles,"  said  another,  "that 
he  may  obtain  places  from  them." 

"He  is  ashamed  of  his  father's  blood;  he  will  deny  his 
mother,"  was  the  taunt  of  a  third. 

"Who  is  it?''  asked  the  boys,  flocking  up. 

"It  is  Shagarach,  who  was  called  an  apostate  in  the 
Messenger  last  week.'' 

Jewish  boys  nearly  all  learn  enough  of  Hebrew  to  read 
the  characters.  They  understood  the  answer  and  passed 
it  along  to  their  comrades. 

"Here  comes  Shagarach,  who  was  printed  among  the 
apostates,"  they  cried,  edging  near  the  lawyer,  while  the 
older  folks  prudently  contented  themselves  with  passing 
remarks. 

Shagarach  only  turned  a  deaf  ear  and  a  pitying  glance 
upon  his  misguided  people.  But  as  he  chanced  to  look 
into  the  window  of  Silberstein's  store,  the  first  page  of 
the  Messenger,  conspicuously  spread  out,  attracted  his 
attention,  and  he  saw,  under  a  black  heading,  among 
a  list  of  "apostates"  his  own  name,  with  the  description 
"Gentile  Judge."  The  malevolent  features  of  Simon 
Rabofsky  scowled  at  him  from  within,  but  were  instantly 
withdrawn.  Shagarach,  however,  stopped  and  rung  the 
bell,  while  the  circle  around  him  stared  in  wonder.  Was 
the  pervert  going  into  Nathan  Silberstein's  house? 

There  was  a  long  pause  before  any  one  answered.  The 
maid  who  finally  came  was  wiping  her  hands  on  her 
apron. 

"Good-evening,  Mrs.  Silberstein,"  said  the  lawyer.  "I 
am  Meyer  Shagarach,  of  whom  you  have  doubtless  heard. 
I  desire  to  see  Simon  Rabofsky,  who,  I  perceive,  is  with- 
in." 

A  great  flurry  of  moving  chairs  could  be  heard,  as, 
though  the  convocation  was  breaking  up. 

"Bid  him  not  depart."  Shagarach  was  already  in  the 
narrow  entry,  with  the  door  closed  behind  him,  and  the 
stupefied  woman  in  front.  "Simon  Rabofsky,"  he  cried, 
after  the  form  which  was  disappearing  through  a  rear 
door.  It  stopped  reluctantly. 


326  THE  INCENDIARY. 

"I  wish  to  confer  with  you  and  with  Moses  Cohen.  He 
is  there.  I  saw  him  through  the  window.  The  others 
may  go  or  stay,  as  they  please.'' 

Cohen  and  Rabofsky  stood  before  Shagarach  in  the 
store. 

"Sit  down.  Draw  down  the  curtain,"  said  the  lawyer 
to  Mrs.  Silberstein,  who  with  her  husband  and  the  others 
stood  on  the  threshold  listening. 

"  'Vengeance  is  mine,'  saith  the  Lord.  As  an  inter- 
preter of  the  scriptures,  you  have  met  that  text,  Simon 
Rabofsky?" 

"It  is  graven  on  my  heart,"  said  the  money-lender, 
with-  unction. 

"Liar,  thief  and  hypocrite!"  cried  Shagarach,  "you  are 
as  vindictive  as  the  viper,  who  stings  the  hand  of  his 
benefactor.  Our  conference  shall  be  short.  I  spare  your 
white  hairs  before  these  people  who  respect  you.  See  to 
it  that  I  walk  through  this  street  unmolested  and  I  may 
forbear  for  a  time  to  punish  you  for  the  perjury  you  com- 
mitted and  the  receipt  of  stolen  articles." 

"I  had  not  known  the  people  of  Israel  so  far  forgot 
their  good  teachings,"  said  Rabofsky,  "as  to  insult  a 
peaceful  passer-by,  like  the  gentile  ruffians." 

"Go  forth  without  excuses/'  said  Shagarach  sternly. 

"I  will  gladly  remind  them,"  said  the  cowed  usurer, 
leaving  the  room. 

"Moses  Cohen,  you  will  retract  and  apologize  in  your 
next  issue,  or  I  shall  prosecute  the  Messenger  for 
slander." 

"I  have  only  told  the  truth,"  answered  the  young 
editor,  doggedly.  "You  are  no  longer  a  Jew." 

"I  am  always  a  Jew,"  said  Shagarach.  "Though  I 
worship  not  with  the  ancient  rites  and  forms,  adapted 
for  simple  minds,  my  God  is  the  God  of  my  fathers  and 
my  heart  is  with  my  people.  I  value  them,  I  love  them, 
better  than  some  who  prey  on  their  prejudices  and  wring 
ducats  by  pretended  piety." 

"But "  urged  Cohen,  stiff-necked  and  arrogant. 


THE  INCENDIARY.  327 

"I  have  spoken,"  said  Shagarach.  "You  have  slandered 
me.  Retract." 

When  he  left  Silberstein's  house  the  Ghetto  was  de- 
serted. The  people  had  fled  within,  and  he  saw  Rabofsky 
far  up  the  street,  warning  them  with  uplifted  hands.  Only 
two  or  three  children,  with  eyes  like  jewels,  played  on 
the  curbstone,  innocent  of  the  guile  that  comes  with 
years.  Shagarach  lifted  one  of  these  in  his  arms  and 
kissed  her.  "Good-by,"  lisped  the  baby,  as  he  continued 
his  walk. 

Bitter  tears  came  into  the  strong  man's  eyes. 

That  night  he  wrote  late  in  his  chamber;  and  though 
he  was  usually  the  earliest  of  risers,  the  next  morning 
his  mother  knocked  on  his  door  repeatedly  in  vain. 

"It  is  the  trial  day,  my  son,"  she  said,  loudly.  Slowly 
he  arose  and  rubbed  his  eyes.  His  clothing  was  dusty 
with  the  bedding  lint.  And  when  he  came  down  to  the 
breakfast  table  his  look  was  mournful  and  abstracted. 


CHAPTER   XLVIII. 

OYEZ!    OYEZ! 

"This  is  the  gravest  charge  known  to  the  law/'  said 
the  district  attorney,  "and  the  man  found  guilty  of  it 
by  a  jury  of  his  peers  is  condemned,  under  the  statutes 
of  this  commonwealth,  to  be  hanged  by  the  neck  until 
he  is  dead." 

Dead!  The  solemn  word  reverberated  through  every 
listener's  heart.  The  crowded  court-room  was  hushed. 
The  jurymen  had  just  been  contemplating  their  own 
portraits  in  the  last  newspaper  which  they  would  see  for 
many  days,  and  now  bent  forward  in  the  first  flush  of 
eager  attention.  Court  officers  were  carrying  whispered 
messages  to  and  fro.  On  the  bench  sat  Chief  Justice 
Playfair,  silver-haired  and  handsome,  between  two  of  his 
judicial  brethren.  The  case  was  considered  of  such  im- 


328  THE  INCENDIARY. 

portance  that  three  judges  had  been  assigned  to  decide 
upon  the  legal  questions  which  might  arise. 

On  the  threshold  of  an  ante-room  Inspector  McCaus- 
land  was  cordially  shaking  hands  with  Shagarach.  In  the 
front  row  of  the  spectators  sat  Mrs.  Arnold,  thin-lipped 
and  cold,  beside  a  sad-faced  woman  in  black.  She  had 
bowed  distantly  to  the  prisoner — no  longer  fettered,  but 
permitted  to  occupy  a  seat  in  the  "cage"  in  full  view — 
between  Dr.  Silsby  and  Emily  Barlow,  who  had  bravely 
elected  to  join  him.  Evidently  he  was  not  one  of  those 
who  grow  plump  on  jail  regime  and  batten  under  the 
shadow  of  the  scaffold.  The  young  man's  dark  cheek 
was  lean,  his  eyes  unwontedly  bright,  but  he  never 
flinched  from  the  district  attorney's  gaze. 

"You  have  learned  from  the  reading  of  the  indictment," 
thundered  the  district  attorney,  stroking  his  patriarchal 
beard  with  one  hand  and  holding  his  notes  in  the  other, 
"that  the  immediate  act  committed  by  the  accused  was 
not  murder  but  arson.  It  is  true  that  he  did  not  deliber- 
ately procure  the  deaths  of  the  seven  persons  who  were 
deprived  of  their  most  precious  property,  of  life  itself, 
in  that  calamity  with  which  our  city  rung  on  the  evening 
of  June  28.  He  did  not  draw  their  blood  personally  with 
the  usual  weapons  of  homicide — pistol,  dagger,  bludgeon 
or  ax.  But  the  evidence  will  show  you  that  a  new  weapon, 
more  dangerous,  because  more  deadly,  than  any  of  these, 
was  used  on  this  occasion,  and  that  he  set  on  foot  forces 
which  did  procure  the  deaths  of  the  victims,  and  which, 
but  for  the  vigilance  of  man  and  the  mercy  of  Providence, 
might  have  doubled  or  trebled  their  number — yes,  laid  the 
greater  part  of  our  fair  city  in  ruins. 

"For  myself,  I  might  be  willing  to  suppose  that 
the  accused  did  not  foresee  the  consequences  which  would 
follow  his  rash  deed;  that  he  trusted  to  a  confined  and 
local  destruction,  of  property  merely,  following  his  ap- 
plication of  the  match  to  his  deceased  uncle's  study.  But 
the  law,  justly  and  wisely,  we  must  admit,  presumes  fore- 
sight, imputes  deliberation  and  malice,  when  loss  of  life 
follows  the  commission  of  a  felony,  and  taxes  the  felon 


THE  INCENDIARY.  329 

not  alone  with  the  initial  damage  but  with  all  damages 
that  accrue.  I  leave  it  to  your  own  good  sense,  gentle- 
men, whether  the  fire-fiend  who  applies  the  torch  in  the 
heart  of  a  crowded  city  is  not  potentially  as  guilty  as  the 
Malay  running  amuck  with  brandished  dagger  or  the 
anarchist  hurling  his  bomb.  There  can  be  only  one  an- 
swer to  the  question.  Our  own  lives,  the  lives  of  our 
wives,  sisters,  children,  are  imperiled  by  any  other  doc- 
trine than  that  which  the  law  lays  down. 

"Therefore,  reluctantly,  sorrowfully,  with  misgivings 
and  fear,  we  have  impeached  Robert  Floyd  of  the  murder 
of  Ellen  Greeley,  who  was  burned  to  death  in  her 
chamber;  of  Rosanna  Moxom,  Katie  Galuby,  Mary  Lacy 
and  Florence  F.  Lacy,  who  died  of  injuries  received 
while  attempting  to  escape  from  the  Harmon  building; 
of  Alexander  Whitlove,  who  was  caught  between  the 
floors  of  that  building,  in  a  heroic  attempt  to  conduct  his 
elevator  to  the  imprisoned  occupants  of  the  upper  story ; 
and  of  Peter  Schubert,  the  fireman  who  lost  his  life  nobly 
in  the  performance  of  his  duty." 

This  catalogue  of  the  victims  moved  the  spectators, 
and  Emily  noticed  the  woman  in  black  crying  softly  in 
her  handkerchief. 

"I  will  not  attempt  to  instruct  your  consciences  or  call 
to  your  minds  the  responsibility  which  rests  upon  your 
shoulders  as  well  as  upon  mine.  For  I  am  convinced 
that  every  man  before  me  approaches  this  case  with  the 
same  unwillingness  which  I  myself  have  felt,  but  also 
with  the  same  determination  to  uphold  the  law,  to  do 
justice  and  nothing  more  or  less  than  justice,  to  all 
parties,  that  I  myself  have  formed." 

The  district  attorney  spoke  this  disclaimer  of  officious- 
ness  or  persecution  with  genuine  feeling,  but  it  was 
scarcely  necessary  for  any  who  knew  him.  The  name  of 
Noah  Bigelow,  like  that  of  Shagarach,  was  guaranty  in 
itself  that  the  cause  would  be  tried  with  courtesy  and 
fairness.  Yet  something  in  his  bearing  might  have  told 
the  psychologist  that  the  nature  of  the  man,  unsuspicious, 
candid  and  slow  to  entertain  a  conviction  of  guilt,  would 


330  THE    INCENDIARY. 

be  equally  slow  to  part  with  such  a  conviction  when  it 
had  once  obtained  a  lodging. 

The  outline  of  the  evidence  to  be  presented  consumed 
more  than  an  hour  in  its  delivery;  and  the  reading,  in  a 
high  drawl,  of  the  minutes  of  the  previous  trial,  occupied 
the  remaining  time  until  the  noon  recess  tediously.  If 
the  jury  had  not  -been  provided  with  a  typewritten  copy 
it  would  have  profited  little  by  this  latter  proceeding. 


CHAPTER   XLIX. 

THE  BATTERIES  OPEN  FIRE. 

Assistant  District  Attorney  Badger  conducted  the  ex- 
amination of  the  first  witness  for  the  government,  who 
gave  his  name  as  the  Rev.  St.  George  Thornton  and  wore 
the  manner  of  an  Oxford  graduate. 

"You  knew  the  uncle  of  the  accused,  Prof.  Arnold?" 

"Excellently.  He  had  been  for  many  years  an  attendant 
at  my  church." 

"The  Church  of  the  Messiah,  of  the  Episcopal  de- 
nomination?" 

"The  Episcopal  church,  sir;  we  do  not  consider  it  a  de- 
nomination." 

"You  officiated  at  Prof.  Arnold's  funeral  service,  J  be- 
lieve?" said  Badger,  disregarding  this  nice  distinction. 

"I  did." 

"This  took  place  on  June  26,  I  believe?" 

"On  Thursday,  June  26;  yes,  sir." 

"And  saw  the  accused,  Robert  Floyd?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Kindly  describe  his  actions  and  appearance  on  that 
occasion,  Dr.  Thornton." 

"In  common  with  others  who  knew  him,  I  was  greatly 
struck  by  the  absence  of  any  signs  of  grief." 

"Such  as  what?" 

"Such  as  tears  and — and  general  signs  of  dejection." 


THE  INCENDIARY.  331 

"As  though  he  were  meditating  upon  something  else 
than  the  death  of  his  uncle?" 

"As  though  his  thoughts  were  far  away." 

"That  is  all/'  said  Badger,  and  Shagarach,  who  had 
apparently  expected  something  more  substantial  than 
this,  arose. 

"You  have  officiated  at  hundreds  of  funerals,  I  pre- 
sume, Dr.  Thornton?" 

"At  many  hundreds,  sir,"  answered  the  clergyman, 
gravely. 

"And  the  ordinary  marks  of  grief,  as  you  say,  are 
tears?" 

"It  is  a  rare  burial  in  which  tears  are  not  shed." 

"So  rare  that  the  exceptions  impress  themselves  upon 
you,  like  the  burial  of  Prof.  Arnold?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Would  you  say  that  in  this  class  of  rare  exceptions  the 
absence  of  tears  was  always  due  to  callousness  in  the 
mourners?" 

"Always?    No,  sir;  not  always." 

"Generally?" 

"I  should  not  attempt  to  say,  sir.'' 

"You  would  scarcely  judge  the  sincerity  of  a  mourn- 
er's sorrow  by  the  copiousness  of  flow  from  his  lachrymal 
glands?" 

"Hardly." 

"One  moment,"  said  Badger,  detaining  Dr.  Thornton 
for  the  redirect.  "Did  you  mean  to  emphasize  the  tear- 
lessness  of  the  accused  as  the  principal  feature  of  his  bear- 
ing which  attracted  your  attention?" 

"No,  sir;  it  was  the  coldness,  I  may  say  the  general  in- 
difference expressed  in  his  countenance,  which  struck 
me." 

"Will  you  allow  me  to  see  your  eyeglasses,  Dr.  Thorn- 
ton?" asked  Shagarach.  "The  lenses  are  concave.  You 
are  near-sighted?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Badly  so,  I  should  say?" 

"Yes,  sir." 


332  THE  INCENDIARY. 

"That  will  do." 

"John  Harkins,"  answered  the  next  witness  to  Badger's 
preliminary  question. 

"Were  you  ever  employed  by  Prof.  Arnold?" 

"I  was." 

"In  what  capacity?" 

"As  coachman." 

"When?" 

"About  a  year  ago,  just  before  Mungovan." 

"How  long  did  you  remain  in  his  household?" 

"About  two  weeks." 

"Did  you  notice  anything  unusual  in  the  relations  be- 
tween the  accused  and  his  uncle?'' 

"Well,  I  heard  them  quarr'ling  two  or  three  times." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  quarreling?" 

"Oh,  they  were  talking  angrily  to  each  other." 

"Did  you  listen  so  as  to  hear  the  import  of  any  of  these 
conversations?" 

"Well,  I  didn't  listen,  but  I  heard  what  they  were  say- 
ing." 

"How  often  did  you  hear  what  they  said?" 

"I  heard  the  old  gentleman  say  once  that  he  was  a 
young  rogue  to  be  herding  with  the  like  of  them  cattle." 

"Who?" 

"The  young  fellow — his  nephew." 

"Called  his  nephew  a  rogue  to  be  herding  with  such 
cattle?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Those  were  his  own  words?" 

"As  near  as  I  can  remember." 

"What  kind  of  a  master  was  Prof.  Arnold?"  asked 
Shagarach. 

"He  was  a  pretty  good  man.  I  haven't  anything  against 
him." 

"Particular,  wasn't  he?" 

"Yes,  he  was  particular." 

"Why  were  you  discharged  at  the  end  of  a  fortnight?" 

"He  didn't  give  any  reason;  just  said  I  didn't  suit,  that 
was  all." 


THE  INCENDIARY.  333 

"But  he  paid  you  in  full?" 

"Oh,  yes." 

"And  you  found  him  not  unreasonably  exacting?" 

"Well,  he  used  to  grumble  a  good  deal." 

"At  you?" 

"At  me,  yes,  and  the  others,  too." 

"You  never  heard  the  others  complaining,  however?" 

"No,  sir." 

"What  did  they  say  when  you  told  them  of  his  grumb- 
ling at  you?" 

"Oh,  they  said  when  you  get  used  to  him  you  won't 
mind." 

"When  the  two  'quarreled,'  as  you  call  it,  how  many 
of  the  voices  were  raised  in  what  you  took  to  be  anger?" 

"How  many?" 

"One  or  both?" 

"Why,  it  was  the  professor  that  was  angry." 

"Didn't  he  always  talk  loudly?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"When  he  'grumbled'  at  you?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"When  he  'grumbled'  at  the  other  servants?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"But  they  didn't  mind  it?" 

"No;  they  said  I  wouldn't  mind  it  after  awhile." 

"Did  Floyd  seem  to  mind  it,  when  you  saw  him  after 
these  'quarrels,'  as  you  call  them?" 

"I  didn't  notice." 

"Will  you,  upon  reflection,  swear  that  these  quarrels 
were  anything  more  than  frank,  warm  discussions,  mis- 
understood by  you  at  the  time,  but  such  as  any  two  men 
of  independent  mold  and  opposite  views  might  indulge 
in?" 

The  witness  was  greatly  puzzled. 

"Well,  I  can't  say.  It  was  pretty  loud  talking,  that 
was  all." 

The  redirect  by  Badger  brought  out  nothing  new  for 
the  government's  case.  It  was  felt  that  their  attempt  to 
show  strained  relations  between  uncle  and  nephew  was 
no  great  success.  But  the  next  witness  was  looked  to 


334  THE  INCENDIARY. 

curiously.  He  gave  his  name  and  position  as  James  L. 
Carberry,  secretary  of  Bricklayers'  council  No.  31,  C.  L. 
U.  He  was  a  powerful  man,  with  a  conspicuously  well- 
filled  sleeve,  suggesting  that  mighty  flexed  arm,  grasping 
a  mallet,  which  is  the  workingman's  favorite  symbol.  But 
the  low  brow  hinted  at  a  degree  of  honest  dullness.  While 
Carberry  was  taking  the  stand  Badger  asked  leave  to 
submit  a  newspaper  clipping  to  the  jury. 

"This  bears  upon  the  point  we  shall  now  endeavor  to 
prove,  your  honors — namely,  the  anti-social  opinions  of 
the  accused." 

Against  Shagarach's  protest  and  exception,  Chief  Jus- 
tice Playfair  allowed  the  jury  to  read  an  article  from  the 
Beacon,  signed  "Robert  Floyd,"  in  which  the  following 
sentence  was  marked  as  especially  obnoxious: 

"When  the  highest  court  in  the  land  decides  that  offensive 
combination  of  capitalists  in  trusts  is  right,  but  defensive 
combination  of  workingmen  in  labor  unions  is  wrong,  then 
the  time  is  ripe  for  revolution." 

Shagarach's  defense  of  his  client's  right  to  freedom  of 
speech  and  thought  was  eloquent.  But  courts  are  and  no 
doubt  should  be  the  sanctuaries  of  orthodoxy,  and  any 
other  conclusion  than  that  which  Chief  Justice  Playfair 
and  his  two  colleagues  reached,  in  a  matter  so  personal  to 
themselves,  could  hardly  be  expected. 

"You  know  the  accused?"  asked  the  district  attorney  of 
Carberry. 

"I  have  met  him,"  answered  the  witness. 

"State  to  the  jury  the  occasion  upon  which  you  met 
him." 

"It  was  at  a  meeting  of  the  union  one  Sunday  after- 
noon, about  six  months  ago." 

"Did  you  have  any  conversation  with  him  at  that 
time?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"On  what  topic?" 

"On  strikes  and  labor  questions  and  anarchy  and " 

"Will  you  state  what  opinions,  if  any,  the  defendant 
expressed  in  regard  to  anarchy?" 


THE  INCENDIARY.  335 

"He  told  me  he  sympathized  with  the  anarchists." 

"Anything  further?" 

"Yes,  sir;  he  said  in  his  opinion  assassination  was 
justifiable." 

"Where  did  this  conversation  take  place?" 

"In  a  little  smoking-room  off  the  hall." 

"Were  you  alone?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Do  you  remember  the  particular  occasion  which 
started  your  discussion  of  anarchism  with  the  accused?" 
asked  Shagarach,  after  a  consultation  with  Floyd. 

"No,  sir." 

"Wasn't  it  the  arrest  of  Dr.  Hyndman  in  London?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  believe  it  was." 

"It  was  for  Dr.  Hyndman  that  Floyd  expressed  sym- 
pathy, was  it  not?" 

"Yes,  sir,  it  was  Hyndman." 

"Do  you  happen  to  know  whether  Dr.  Hyndman  is  a 
philosophical  anarchist  or  not?" 

"Sir?" 

"Do  you  know  what  school  of  anarchism  Dr.  Hynd- 
man represents?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Do  you  know  whether  he  advocates  bomb-throwing?" 

"I  suppose  so." 

"You  take  it  for  granted,  then,  that  all  anarchists  are 
bomb-throwers?'' 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Had  Dr.  Hyndman  thrown  a  bomb?" 

"I  don't  remember." 

"Don't  you  remember  that  he  merely  made  an  an- 
archistic speech,  m  denunciation  of  society?" 

"No,  sir."- 

"You  didn't  inquire  into  the  matter  much?" 

"No,  sir." 

"But  Floyd,  you  say,  expressed  sympathy  with  the 
anarchists?" 

"Yes,  sir."    This  was  said  emphatically. 


336  THE  INCENDIARY. 

''Didn't  he  say  that  he  sympathized  with  Dr.  Hynd- 
man?" 

"That's  what  I  told  you." 

"No,  sir,  it  is  not  what  you  told  me.  Didn't  Floyd  say 
he  sympathized  with  Dr.  Hyndman  as  opposed  to  the 
bomb-throwing  anarchists?" 

"I  don't  remember  that  he  did." 

"Didn't  he  say  that  he  sympathized  with  Dr.  Hynd- 
man's  objects,  but  not  his  methods?" 

"I  don't  remember  anything  about  that." 

"Then  you  didn't  carry  away  a  very  clear  idea  of  the 
conversation,  did  you?" 

"I  think  I  did,''  the  witness  replied  with  positiveness. 
Then  the  cross-examiner  dismissed  him,  satisfied  to  have 
made  it  apparent  that  fine  distinctions  would  pass  through 
Mr.  Carberry's  mind  like  beach  sand  through  a  sieve. 
The  redirect  examination  went  over  the  same  ground, 
and  Badger  placed  a  Mr.  Lovejoy  on  the  stand. 

"You  are  treasurer  of  the  Beacon  company,  are  you 
not?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"All  checks  in  payment  for  services  rendered  pass 
through  you?" 

"Through  my  subordinates  or  myself." 

"Have  you  calculated,  as  requested,  the  total  sums 
paid  to  Robert  Floyd  for  special  articles  during  the  time 
of  his  employment?" 

"I  have." 

"Will  you  state  to  the  jury  the  earning  capacity  of  this 
young  man  at  the  time  of  his  uncle's  death?" 

"The  question  is  prejudicially  framed,  Brother  Badger," 
said  Shagarach.  "Please  do  not  incorporate  your  own 
inferences  when  examining  a  witness." 

"How  much  had  Floyd  earned  while  with  you?"  asked 
Badger. 

"From  January  to  June,  inclusive,  six  monthly  checks 
were  made  out  payable  to  Robert  Floyd,  for  services,  and 
three  smaller  checks  for  expenses  incurred.  The  amount 
of  the  former  checks  was  $309." 


THE  INCENDIARY.  337 

"During  six  months?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Mr.  Hero  Leander,"  said  the  next  witness. 

"City  editor  of  the  Beacon,  I  believe?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Will  you  state  any  conversation  you  had  with  In' 
spector  McCausland  on  Monday  morning,  June  30?" 

"The  conversation  on  my  side  was  conducted  in  the 
deaf-and-dumb  alphabet.  Mr.  McCausland  entered  our 
office  and  inquired  which  was  Floyd's  desk." 

"And  what  did  you  do?" 

"I  pointed." 

"To  Floyd's  desk?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Mr.  McCausland." 

A  buzz  of  expectancy  went  around  when  the  inspector 
walked  in  from  the  ante-room  and  mounted  the  stand. 
He  wore  a  rose  in  his  buttonhole,  but  the  smile  had  left 
his  countenance.  With  his  testimony,  it  was  felt,  the  real 
case  for  the  prosecution  began. 

"You  arrested  the  accused,  I  believe,  Mr.  McCaus- 
land?'' asked  the  district  attorney,  amid  the  breathless 
attention  of  the  court. 

"I  had  that  disagreeable  task  to  perform." 

"Where  was  the  arrest  made?" 

"On  the  steps  of  the  Putnam  hotel." 

"What  was  your  first  act  upon  reaching  the  station?" 

"I  stripped  the  accused  and  confiscated  the  clothes  he 
wore." 

"These  were  the  clothes  he  had  worn  at  the  time  of 
the  fire,  also?" 

"He  stated  so." 

"You  have  preserved  those  garments?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"You  also  confiscated  the  desk  which  Floyd  had  oc- 
cupied at  the  Beacon  office?" 

"The  drawers  of  it,  yes,  sir." 

"Have  you  preserved  the  contents  of  that  desk?" 

"Yes,  sir." 


338  THE  INCENDIARY. 

"Will  you  inform  the  jury  what  you  found  in  the 
drawers  of  Robert  Floyd's  desk?" 

"Three  copies  of  the  anarchist  organ,  Freiheit.  There 
they  are." 

"Do  these  papers  preach  philosophical  anarchy,  Mr. 
McCausland?" 

"I  should  say  not.  They  are  in  German,  but  the  lead- 
ing editorial  of  this  one — which  was  kindly  translated  for 
me  by  a  friend — recommends  the  'stamping  out  by  fire 
and  sword  of  John  Burns  and  all  such  peace-mongering 
worms/  " 

"A  forcible  expression,  surely.  It  is  the  Most  organ, 
in  short?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Will  you  state  the  further  results  of  your  search  in 
the  desk?" 

"I  found  this  paper  of  powder,  a  part  of  a  fuse,  a  writ- 
ten formula  for  manufacturing  a  bomb,  a  blotter  with 
part  of  a  note  on  it,  legible  by  the  help  of  a  mirror " 

"That  will  do  for  the  present,  Mr.  McCausland.  And 
wil  you  state  what  you  may  have  found  in  the  pockets  of 
Floyd's  coat?" 

"A  quantity  of  powder.  There  were  grains  of  it  also 
on  the  knees  of  his  trousers." 

"Similar  to  that  found  in  his  desk?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"What  else?" 

"A  burnt  match,"  said  the  inspector,  just  as  the  clock 
struck  five  and  the  constable's  gavel  sounded  a  prelude 
to  adjournment. 


CHAPTER    L. 
THE  BOMBARDMENT  CONTINUES. 

Nearly  the  same  gathering  was  admitted  to  the  court- 
room on  the  second  day  as  on  the  first.  But,  wedged  in 
between  Mrs.  Arnold  and  the  unknown  woman  in  black, 
Emily  had  pointed  out  to  her  the  famous  novelist  Ecks, 
who  sat  with  his  head  inclined  toward  the  still  more 


THE  INCENDIARY.  339 

famous  playwright  Wye.  Wye  was  mooting  volubly  the 
chain  of  testimony  which  had  been  spun  around  the  ac- 
cused on  the  foregoing  day,  which  seemed  to  possess 
for  him  all  the  circumscribed  but  inexhaustible  interest 
of  the  chessboard  or  a  dramatic  intrigue.  But  Ecks  was 
sketching  in  pencil  the  principal  characters  of  the  trial. 

"We  shall  summon  Mr.  McCausland  again,"  said  the 
district  attorney.  "At  present  we  surrender  him  to  the 
counsel  for  the  accused." 

A  keen  glance  shot  from  lawyer  to  witness,  com- 
paring the  two  great  opponents.  Shagarach's  face  was 
a  mask,  stern  and  impenetrable,  but  McCausland  visibly 
braced  himself  for  the  encounter.  Equal  they  might  be 
in  a  sense,  as  Mount  Everest  is  the  peer  of  the  Amazon, 
but  as  different  in  their  spheres  as  the  river  and  the 
mountain.  In  the  detective's  subtle  eye  the  keen  observer 
might  have  discovered  a  finesse  and  a  suppleness  not  alto- 
gether remote  from  the  corresponding  traits  in  the 
cracksman  whom  he  had  impersonated.  But  Shagarach 
could  no  more  have  counterfeited  Bill  Dobbs  than  Mc- 
Causland could  have  acted  with  success  the  role  of  Count 
L'Alienado. 

"Would  you  hang  a  kitten  on  the  evidence  of  a  burned 
match,  inspector?"  asked  the  lawyer. 

"If  he  were  old  enough  to  scratch  it,"  answered  the 
detective. 

"Will  you  turn  out  the  contents  of  your  upper  right 
vest  pocket?" 

McCausland's  face  became  rosy  with  embarrassment, 
but  he  obeyed  the  request.  A  ripple  of  laughter  went 
around  when  among  the  broken-up  fractions  of  a  card 
of  lucifers  there  appeared  one  that  was  blackened  at  the 
end.  The  inspector  allowed  the  merriment  to  die,  then 
coolly  remarked: 

"It  is  the  match  I  found  on  Floyd." 

And  it  was  felt  that  he  had  held  his  own. 

"Phineas  Fowler,"  called  the  district  attorney.  The 
old  chemist  tottered  to  the  stand  and  held  a  parchment 


340  THE  INCENDIARY. 

hand  high  in  air  while  the  clerk  administered  his  oath. 

"What  is  your  business,  Mr.  Fowler?" 

The  pantaloon  trembled  visibly  and  twisted  the  two 
horns  of  his  forked  beard  one  after  the  other  with  nervous 
fingers,  blinking  about  all  the  while  like  an  old  Rosicru- 
cian  projected  into  the  daylight  world. 

"A  chemist,"  he  piped,  in  a  treble  so  high  that  the 
thoughtless  smiled,  but  so  feeble  the  chief  justice  bent 
forward  to  hear  and  the  stenographer  requested  him  to 
raise  his  voice.  Ecks  began  sketching  away  rapidly  at  the 
advent  of  this  character.  The  very  odor  of  acids  seemed 
to  exhale  from  his  shivering  person. 

"What  lines  of  trade  do  you  supply?" 

"Photographers,  dyers,  armorers " 

"The  last  class  with  explosives  and  fulminating  com- 
pounds, I  presume?" 

"Also  with  oils  and  varnishes,"  answered  the  panta- 
loon, his  voice  breaking  in  the  desperate  effort  he  made 
to  be  audible. 

"Would  you  call  him  senile  or  venerable?"  whispered 
Ecks. 

"He  must  have  sold  Floyd  the  powder,"  answered 
Wye,  intent  on  the  imbroglio. 

"Have  you  ever  met  the  accused?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"When  and  where?" 

"In  my  office  twice." 

"What  was  the  date  of  the  first  visit  of  the  accused 
to  your  office?" 

"June  23." 

"And  of  the  second?" 

"June  27." 

"On  what  business  did  the  accused  call  to  see  you, 
Mr.  Fowler?" 

"He  was  inquiring  about  bombs,"  answered  the  wit- 
ness, a  strong  back-country  twang  coming  out  as  he 
proceeded  and  adding  to  his  other  peculiarities. 

"What  did  he  especially  desire  to  know  about  bombs?" 


THE  INCENDIARY.  341 

"How  they  were  made." 

"Were  you  able  to  inform  him?  Have  you  made  a 
study  of  this  subject?" 

"Oh,  yes.     There's  nothing  mysterious  about  it." 

"You  entered  into  a  minute  discussion,  then,  with 
Floyd  on  the  subject  of  bomb-making?" 

"Well,  no;  I  answered  his  questions.  Didn't  volun- 
teer nothing."  Mr.  Fowler  grew  reckless  of  the  niceties 
of  speech  as  he  accelerated  his  replies.  "Don't  believe 
it's  a  proper  matter  to  be  preached  from  the  housetops." 

"Your  room  is  tolerably  near  the  top  of  the  house, 
however?" 

"Top  story,  sir." 

"Well,  proper  or  improper,  what  was  the  upshot  of 
your  conversation?" 

"He  was  coming  again  and  I  was  to  sell  him  some 
powder." 

"Anything  else?" 

"Yes,  three  feet  of  fuse." 

"Will  you  describe  this  fuse?" 

"Why  it's  just  common  fuse,  made  out  of  linen  cloth, 
sprinkled  with  a  slow-burning  mixture — nitre,  sulphur 
and  a  little  powder — sheathed  in  rubber  and  fitted  into 
a  metal  plug." 

"You  sold  Floyd  three  feet  of  this  fuse?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"And  how  much  of  the  powder?" 

"Two  pounds." 

"Common  gunpowder?" 

"Yes,  sir;  American  army  powder." 

"You  were  to  sell  him  these  commodities,  you  say. 
Did  he  actually  return  and  purchase  them?" 

"Yes,  sir;  I  had  them  all  done  up  when  he  called 
again." 

"Called  on  June  27,  as  he  had  promised  to?" 

"Called  on  June  27,  sir." 

"Which  was  the  day  before  the  fire  and  the  day  after 
his  uncle's  funeral,  according  to  Dr.  Thornton's  testi- 
mony as  to  the  date." 


342  THE  INCENDIARY. 

"I  dare  say  you  are  right,  sir,"  squeaked  the  panta- 
loon, who  evidently  stood  in  trepidation  of  his  burly 
examiner. 

"For  what  purpose  did  you  understand  that  the  ac- 
cused wanted  this  powder  and  this  fuse?'' 

"Told  me  he  wanted  to  make  some  sort  of  a  bomb." 

"Did  he  ask  you  for  particular  directions?" 

"Well,  yes." 

"Did  you  furnish  him  the  shell  or  envelope  of  this 
projected  bomb?" 

"Oh,  no;  he  said  he  had  a  teakittle  to  hum,"  said  the 
pantaloon,  whereupon  the  repressed  volcano  of  mer- 
riment exploded  once  more,  to  the  indignation  of  John 
Davidson,  who  occupied  a  front  seat,  listening  to  the 
testimony  of  his  townsman.  The  chief  justice  looked 
stern  and  the  district  attorney's  deep  bass  rumbled  on 
without  a  pause. 

"A  teakettle  at  home.  And  how  was  that  to  be  con- 
verted into  the  covering  of  a  bomb?" 

"Why,  I  told  him  to  put  the  fuse  inside  and  draw  it 
through  the  nozzle,  so  the  plug  would  stop  up  the  spout, 
then  shovel  in  the  powder,  tamp  her  up  with  nails  and 
pellets,  fasten  down  the  lid  and  you  have  a  bomb  ready 
made.  The  kettle,  I  understood,  was  a  frail  one,  hardly 
stronger  than  a  canister." 

"Not  a  concussion  bomb,  Mr.  Fowler,  I  suppose?" 

"No,  sir.  Those  are  filled  with  dynamite  or  giant 
powder.  I  don't  deal  in  the  high  explosives." 

"This  bomb  would  have  to  be  fired  through  the  fuse?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"But  it  would  explode  with  considerable  force." 

"Well,  I  guess  it  would  rip  things  jest  a  trifle."  Here 
the  pantaloon  forced  the  ghost  of  a  smile  himself. 

"Kindly  bring  in  the  safe." 

It  came  in  on  the  shoulders  of  two  stout  porters,  all 
breached  and  battered  and  bubbled  in  places,  as  if  the 
iron  had  melted  like  tar. 

"The  explosion  of  this  shell,  the  construction  of  which 


THE   INCENDIARY.  843 

you  have  just  described,  would  blast  away  a  very  con- 
siderable obstacle,  you  say?" 

"Lord,  yes!    Slit  a  cannon.5' 

"Would  it  be  sufficient — I  ask  your  opinion  as  one 
having  experience  in  this  line — would  it  be  sufficient  to 
cause  the  mutilation  visible  in  that  safe?" 

"All  that  and  a  sight  more." 

"And  the  accused  gave  you  to  understand  that  he  had 
undertaken  the  construction  of  just  such  a  bomb?" 

"I  took  him  so." 

"Very  well.  So  much  for  that.  Did  you  examine  the 
piece  of  fuse  which  Mr.  McCausland  found  in  the  desk 
occupied  by  Floyd  at  the  Beacon  office?" 

"I  did." 

"What  kind  of  fuse  was  it?" 

"Same  as  I  sold  him." 

At  this  point  a  small  piece  of  fuse,  some  six  inches 
in  length,  was  submitted  to  the  jury  for  inspection  and 
passed  along  from  hand  to  hand. 

"And  the  powder  found  in  it?" 

"Same  powder." 

"And  the  powder  in  Floyd's  coat  pockets?" 

"Same  powder." 

"And  the  grains  on  the  knees  of  his  trousers,  where 
they  may  have  spilled?" 

"Same  powder." 

"That's  the  black  side  of  the  shield,"  whispered  Ecks, 
as  the  district  attorney  sat  down. 

"Now  for  the  white,"  answered  Wye. 

"It  is  not  part  of  your  regular  business,  I  presume,'' 
said  Shagarach,  "to  furnish  anarchists  with  bombs?" 

"Oh,  no,  sir,"  answered  the  witness,  making  cork- 
screw curls  of  his  beard  points. 

"Or  incendiaries  with  igniting  material?" 

"No,  sir;  never  did  it  before  in  my  life,  sir." 

"Why  did  Floyd  say  he  wanted  this  powder  and  fuse 
and  information  as  to  the  construction  of  bombs?" 

"Said  he  was  studying  up  anarchism.'' 

"For  what  purpose?" 


344  THE  INCENDIARY. 

"Wanted  to  write  an  article  on  it,  he  said." 

"And  you  seem  to  have  believed  him?" 

"At  the  time,  or  I  wouldn't  have  sold  him  the  goods." 

"What  made  you  believe  him?" 

The  witness  paused,  puzzled  and  shifted  from  foot  to 
foot. 

"Well,  I  can't  say,  sir,  as  to  his  credentials." 

"Couldn't  he  have  procured  these  materials  in  some 
less  public  way  if  secrecy  had  been  an  object  with  him?" 

"Plenty  of  other  ways  of  getting  such  things,  sir." 

"Yet  he  walked  in  openly  to  your  office?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Told  you  his  name?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Gave  you  his  card?" 

"Yes,  sir;  business  card;  said  he  was  a  reporter." 

"Where  is  the  card?" 

"I  don't  know,  sir." 

"Did  you  notice  the  name?" 

"No,  sir;  took  no  particular  notice.  Thought  it  was 
all  right  at  the  time." 

"But  the  young  man  stated  that  he  was  studying  up 
anarchism?" 

"And  wanted  to  see  for  himself  just  how  easy  it  was 
to  make  a  bomb." 

"That  will  do." 

"Rather  an  eccentric  whim,"  said  Wye.  "Putting  up 
a  clever  defense,  though." 

"Did  you  notice  how  the  defendant's  jaws  are  set?" 
answered  Ecks. 

"Mr.  Hero  Leander,"  called  Badger,  and  the  city  ed- 
itor again  took  the  stand. 

"Did  the  Beacon  ever  give  Floyd  an  assignment  to 
write  up  anarchy?" 

The  witness  shook  his  head. 

"Mr.  McCausland  once  more,"  said  Badger,  while  the 
city  editor,  whose  occupation  had  taught  him  to  reduce 
laconicism  to  a  science,  rushed  off  to  write  up  his  own 


THE  INCENDIARY.  345 

somewhat  abbreviated  testimony  for  the  evening  edition 
of  his  paper. 

"Did  you  find  any  manuscript  or  notes  of  an  article 
on  anarchism  in  the  desk  occupied  by  the  accused?" 

"None,  sir." 

"Or  in  the  garments  he  wore  at  the  time  of  the  fire?" 

"None." 

"You  had  no  opportunity,"  asked  Shagarach,  "after 
the  fire  to  search  Floyd's  room  at  his  uncle's  house?" 

"I  wish  I  had/'  replied  the  inspector. 

"Then  you  could  not  testify  that  such  notes  or  such 
a  manuscript  were  not  in  existence  before  the  fire?" 

"I  could  offer  an  opinion." 

"Mr.  Chandler." 

In  the  interim,  during  which  our  old  acquaintance,  the 
patrolman,  was  hunted  up,  the  jury  curiously  examined 
the  powder,  which  McCausland  handed  them. 

"You  recognize  this  article,  Mr.  Chandler?"  asked 
Badger,  pointing  to  the  safe. 

"I  do." 

"You  removed  it  or  had  it  removed  from  the  ruins 
of  the  Arnold  house  after  the  fire?" 

"Acting  under  Mr.  McCausland's  instructions,  I  did 
so." 

"It  presented  the  same  appearance  as  now?" 

"As  far  as  I  know." 

"The  safe  will  be  removed  to  the  jury-room  later  for 
inspection,"  said  Badger. 

"What  was  the  date  of  Prof.  Arnold's  death,  Mr.  Chan- 
dler?" asked  Shagarach. 

"He  died  on  a  Tuesday.  Let  me  see.  The  fire  was 
on  the  28th;  then  it  must  have  been  the  24th." 

"How  is  that  competent,  your  honor?"  objected 
Badger. 

"Perhaps  Mr.  Shagarach  can  explain  its  relevancy," 
said  Chief  Justice  Playfair. 

"Easily,  your  honor.  Fowler,  the  chemist,  has  tes- 
tified that  Floyd's  first  visit  was  on  the  23d,  which  was 
Monday.  His  uncle  died  on  Tuesday,  suddenly  and 


346  THE  INCENDIARY. 

unexpectedly.  The  prosecution  asks  us  to  believe  that 
the  accused  either  foresaw  in  some  occult  manner  his 
uncle's  death  or  contemplated  blowing  up  the  house 
while  his  uncle  was  still  alive." 

"Admit  the  testimony,"  said  the  judge. 

"District  Chief  Wotherspoon,"  called  the  district  at- 
torney, relieving  his  assistant.  The  witness  was  rugged 
and  weather-beaten  and  his  uniform  was  not  brushed 
for  inspection.  He  had  just  answered  an  alarm. 

"You  had  charge  of  the  fire  forces  in  the  early  part 
of  the  Arnold  fire,  did  you  not?" 

"Yes,  sir;  until  Chief  McKay  arrived  I  was  senior 
officer." 

"Do  you  recall  the  explosions  which  took  place?" 

"Perfectly." 

"How  many  in  number  were  the  explosions?" 

"Two." 

"Two  distinct  explosions?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Will  you  state  to  the  best  of  your  knowledge  the 
portion  of  the  burning  buildings  from  which  the  explo- 
sions came?" 

"The  first  one  was  a  single  discharge.  It  came  from 
the  second  story  of  the  Arnold  house." 

"Where  the  study  was  located?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"You  feel  positive?" 

"I  do.  I  was  climbing  a  ladder  at  the  time  and  was 
thrown  off  my  hold  by  the  shock." 

"And  the  second  of  the  explosions?" 

"The  second  came  after  an  interval  and  was  different 
in  character — more  like  the  setting-off  of  a  bunch  of 
firecrackers,  but  greatly  exaggerated  in  the  volume  of 
sound.  There  can  be  no  doubt  this  was  the  fireworks 
shop  in  the  adjoining  building." 

"But  the  first  one  positively  came  from  the  study?" 

"Positively." 

"A  very  loud  report?" 

"Very  loud." 


THE  INCENDIARY.  347 

"Such  as  might  have  been  caused  by  the  explosion  of 
the  bomb  Mr.  Fowler  described?" 

"I  should  say  so." 

"At  what  time,"  asked  Shagarach,  "did  the  explosion 
take  place?  How  long  after  you  arrived?" 

"I  couldn't  say  exactly;  a  few  minutes." 

"One?" 

"More  than  one." 

"Two?" 

"Yes." 

"Three?" 

"Possibly." 

"And  when  did  you  arrive?" 

"At  3:32." 

"How  long  had  the  fire  been  going  when  you  arrived?" 

"As  nearly  as  I  could  estimate  from  the  headway,  about 
five  minutes.  Opinions  varied  a  good  deal  on  that 
point" 

"Let  us  say  five  and  add  the  three  which  elapsed  be- 
fore you  heard  the  explosion.  Then  if  there  were  a  bomb 
in  the  study  or  library  and  its  fuse  were  lighted  at  the 
start  of  the  fire  that  fuse  must  have  burned  for  eight 
minutes  before  it  reached  the  powder." 

"He's  a  genius,"  exclaimed  Wye,  but  Ecks  was  sketch- 
ing Shagarach's  forehead  and  did  not  answer. 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  the  fireman. 

"A  somewhat  incombustible  fuse.  But  if  the  fuse 
were  not  lighted  at  the  start  then  presumably  the  fire 
started  at  the  opposite  end  of  the  room  and  worked 
its  way  slowly  toward  the  fuse?" 

"Presumably." 

"Even  so,  it  seems  likely  that  the  fuse  must  have  been 
boxed  up  tightly  or  it  would  have  caught  earlier." 

"It  certainly  does  to  me,  sir,  though  I  haven't  given 
the  subject  any  thought." 

"It  is  not  a  difficult  one,"  said  Shagarach.  "Wouldn't 
you  say,  then,  that  this  fire  must  have  been  started  by 
some  one  who  was  ignorant  that  there  was  a  bomb  in 


348  THE  INCENDIARY. 

the  room  in  close  proximity  to  the  safe?  Otherwise  he 
would  have  lighted  the  fuse." 

"Perhaps." 

"And  consequently  by  some  one  else  than  Floyd?" 

"I  object,"  said  the  district  attorney.  He  ought  to 
have  objected  long  before,  since  Shagarach's  previous 
question  was  wholly  out  of  order,  but  his  attention  had 
been  distracted  by  McCausland. 

"If  it  had  been  the  incendiary's  desire  to  secure  a 
gradual  spread  of  the  flames,  so  as  to  permit  himself 
ample  time  to  escape,  while  at  the  same  time  insuring 
the  destruction  of  the  safe,  would  it  not  have  been  pru- 
dent for  him  to  apply  the  match  at  the  other  end  of  the 
room,  as  he  appears  to  have  done?"  asked  the  district 
attorney.  But  Shagarach  objected  to  this  in  his  turn 
and  the  two  questions  were  left  unanswered,  locking 
horns  like  tangled  stags  in  the  minds  of  the  wondering 
jurors. 

"May  I  add  one  further  question  to  my  cross-exam- 
ination of  Mr.  Fowler?"  asked  Shagarach,  when  the  fire- 
man was  dismissed. 

"How  long,  Mr.  Fowler,  would  it  take  for  that  bomb 
to  explode  after  the  tip  of  the  fuse  had  ignited?" 

"About  a  minute,"  answered  the  chemist. 

"For  the  present,"  said  the  district  attorney,  "we  are 
obliged  to  rest  this  portion  of  the  case.  The  fatality 
which  has  pursued  all  the  occupants  of  the  Arnold  house, 
even  to  the  discharged  coachman,  Dennis  Mungovan, 
has  deprived  us  by  Miss  Lund's  death  of  a  witness  who 
would  have  directly  and  immediately  connected  .the 
bomb  which  Floyd  constructed  with  the  mutilated  safe. 
This  afternoon  we  shall  enter  upon  a  different  phase 
of  the  subject — namely,  an  earlier  attempt  on  the  part 
of  the  accused  to  obtain  possession  of  the  will." 


THE  INCENDIARY.  349 


CHAPTER  LI. 

GLORY  ALLELUIA. 

"Saul  Aronson,"  called  the  district  attorney. 

Shagarach's  assistant  had  been  amazed  to  find  a  sub- 
poena thrust  into  his  hands  just  as  he  returned  to  his 
desk  after  the  noon  recess.  Of  what  service  could  he  be 
to  the  prosecution?  As  little  as  possible,  he  inwardly 
determined,  while  he  made  his  way  to  the  stand. 

"Do  you  know  a  young  lady  named  Miss  Serena 
Lamb?"  asked  Badger,  in  his  iciest  voice.  The  cruelty 
of  it  was  exquisite.  If  he  had  discharged  a  revolver  at 
Aronson  point  blank  the  witness  could  not  have  looked 
more  terror-stricken.  To  have  the  secrets  of  the  affec- 
tions thus  held  up  to  public  scorn!  To  be  compelled 
to  wear  on  his  sleeve  the  heart  whose  bleeding  in  his 
bosom  he  had  with  difficulty  stanched!  His  face  grew 
pale — or,  rather,  a  mottled  white.  But  Shagarach  rose 
on  purpose  and  his  master's  presence  acted  like  a  cordial 
on  the  fainting  witness. 

"Yes,  sir,"  he  stammered  out,  marveling  what  was  to 
come;  how  long  the  torture  would  be  prolonged. 

"That  is  all  for  the  present,"  said  Badger. 

"Prof.  Borrowscales,"  called  the  district  attorney,  and 
a  shadow  of  disappointment  fell  on  the  court-room. 
There  is  no  testimony  less  amusing  than  that  of  the  writ- 
ing expert  and  none  more  inconclusive.  At  least  eleven 
jurors  out  of  twelve  disregard  it  and  form  their  own 
opinions  by  the  rule  of  thumb. 

"You  are  a  professor  of  penmanship?"  asked  the  dis- 
trict attorney. 

"An  expert  in  handwriting,  yes,  sir.'' 

"Of  many  years'  experience?1' 

"Twenty-nine." 


350  THE  INCENDIARY. 

"Have  you  examined  the  papers  submitted  to  you  by 
Inspector  McCausland?" 

"I  have  microscopically." 

"Describe  them,  please,  for  the  benefit  of  the  jury." 

"This  one  is  a  page  of  manuscript  purporting  to  be 
the  work  of  Robert  Floyd  and  bearing  his  signature. 
The  other  contains  a  chemical  formula." 

"The  bomb  formula,  taken  from  the  desk  of  the  ac- 
cused," explained  the  district  attorney.  "Anything  else?" 

"A  number,  apparently  jotted  down  on  the  same  sheet.'' 

"Please  read  out  that  number." 

"No.  1863." 

"What  do  you  say  as  to  the  identity  of  the  handwrit- 
ings, professor?" 

"I  give  it  as  my  conviction  that  they  are  the  same. 
The  capital  Q " 

"Never  mind  the  capital  Q,"  interrupted  Shagarach. 
"We  admit  that  the  formula  was  written  by  the  accused." 

"Retain  the  autograph  for  one  moment,"  said  the  dis- 
trict attorney.  "There  was  another  article  submitted  to 
you  for  comparison.  What  was  that?" 

"A  blotting-pad,"  said  the  professor,  holding  it  up  in 
his  fingers  and  showing  a  clean  side,  bearing  the  re- 
versed impressions  of  two  or  three  lines  of  writing. 

"Will  you  kindly  hold  that  up  to  the  mirror  you  have 
brought  and  read  what  may  be  read  of  the  writing  taken 
up  by  the  pad?" 

"Looks  to  me  as  if  it  came  from  the  back  of  a  postal 
card.  Just  fits  that  size  and  says: 

"  'Dear  Aronson:  The  lock  that  I  told  you  about  still  sticks. 
Please  come  and  open  it.  I  will  not  trust  it  to  an  ordinary  lock- 
smith. ROBERT  FLOYD.'  " 

"As  to  the  signature  and  writing?    Are  they  genuine?" 
"Beyond  peradventure  and  on   the   strength   of   my 
twenty-nine  years  of  experience." 

"During  your  twenty-nine  years  of  experience,"  asked 
Shagarach,  "have  you  ever  failed  to  arrive  at  the  con- 
clusion your  employers  expected?" 


THE   INCENDIARY.  351 

"I  object,"  said  the  district  attorney,  and  Shagarach 
withdrew  his  question.  It  was  one  of  those  ramrod  ques- 
tions, the  office  of  which  is  simply  to  drive  the  charge 
home  and  then  be  withdrawn. 

"Will  you  kindly  write  your  own  name  on  that?" 

He  handed  up  a  common  paper  block  and  a  pen.  The 
expert  flushed  a  little  and  put  the  pen  in  his  mouth. 
This  blackened  his  lips  and  raised  a  titter.  His  tongue 
rolled  in  his  cheek  like  a  schoolboy's  while  he  wrote. 
The  effort  was  unconsciously  prolonged.  Shagarach 
took  the  autograph  and  passed  it  to  the  jury.  A  broad 
smile  spread  from  face  to  face  like  a  row  of  lamps  lighted 
successively  by  an  electric  current.  Then  the  half-legi- 
ble scrawl  was  passed  to  the  district  attorney  and  Shag- 
arach sat  down. 

"I  do  not  understand,"  said  the  district  attorney,  "that 
you  profess  to  be  an  ornamental  writer?" 

"It  is  not  necessary,  Brother  Bigelow,"  interrupted 
Shagarach  again.  "We  acknowledge  the  note  on  the 
postal  card." 

"He  has  a  spark  of  humor,  after  all,"  said  Ecks,  who 
was  still  in  his  seat. 

"What  do  you  suppose  Aronson  has  to  do  with  it?" 
asked  Wye,  while  the  jury  studied  the  blotter,  one  after 
another,  mirror  in  hand. 

"Pineapple  Jupiter!''  called  Badger.  The  old  negro 
hobbled  to  the  stand  and  immediately  opened  his  mouth 
in  a  good-natured  smile,  which  set  the  spectators'  lips 
working  responsively. 

"This  is  a  murder  case,  involving  life  and  death,"  said 
Chief  Justice  Playfair,  with  dignity,  and  the  court  officers 
rapped  their  staffs  and  bustled  about,  commanding  si- 
lence. 

"You  know  Mr.  Aronson,  the  last  witness  but  one?'' 
asked  Badger. 

"See  him  most  every  day,  sah." 

"Do  you  also  know  a  young  lady  named  Miss  Serena 
Lamb?" 

"See  her  most  every  day,  sah." 


352  THE  INCENDIARY. 

"Did  you  ever  introduce  Mr.  Aronson  to  Miss  Lamb?" 

"Yes,  sah." 

"When  and  where?" 

"Well,  you  see,  I  fetched  him  up  to  her  and  says  I, 
'Here's  a  convert,  sister,'  says  I.  'Hallelujah!'  says  she, 
and  that's  how  I  done  it,  sah." 

"Where  was  this?" 

"Down  on  the  square,  sah — Salem  street." 

"And  when?" 

"When?" 

"Yes,  when  did  you  introduce  Mr.  Aronson  and  Miss 
Lamb?" 

The  negro  scratched  his  woolly  poll. 

"Clean  forgot  de  time,  sah." 

"Was  it  a  year  ago?" 

"  'Bout  a  year,  sah." 

"Couldn't  you  fix  the  time  exactly?    It  is  important." 

"Well,  you  see,  sah,  it  was  about  de  second-last  time 
I  got  a  hair-cut." 

This  answer  provoked  a  roar,  but  the  district  attorney 
took  the  witness  in  hand. 

"Can  you  count?" 

"Oh,  yes,  sah ;  I  can  count,  sah." 

"Up  to  how  far?" 

"Up  to  ten  mostly,  sah." 

"You  can't  read?" 

"Born  before  Massah  Linkun,  sah.  Chillun  can  read. 
Old  folks  picking  cotton;  no  time  for  school,  sah." 

"And  you  reckon  time  by  the  occasions  when  your 
hair  needs  cutting?" 

"Yes,  sah;  wife  and  I  reckons  pretty  close  on  that, 
sah." 

"An  excellent  way  for  want  of  a  better  hour-glass," 
said  the  district  attorney.  "About  how  often  do  you  get 
your  hair  cut  from  winter  to  winter?" 

"Oh,  about  six  times,  sah.  My  ole  wool  grows  putty 
stiddy-reg'lar,  sah." 

"Six  times?    You  have  had  your  hair  cut  lately?" 

"This   morning,    sah.     Wife   said    I    wasn't  looking 


THE  INCENDIARY.  353 

'spectable  enough  to  come  into  court  before  genteel 
gemlen." 

"And  you  introduced  Miss  Lamb  and  Mr.  Aronson 
about  the  second  hair-cut  before  that?'' 

"Yes,  sah,  third-last  time.    'Scuse  me." 

"It  must  have  been  four  months  ago,  then.  That  will 
do.  Mr.  Hardwood." 

A  business-looking  old  gentleman  took  the  stand. 

"You  are  a  member  of  the  firm  of  Hardwood  &  Lock- 
well?"  asked  Badger. 

"Senior  member." 

"What  is  your  business?" 

"Safemakers." 

"How  long  have  you  been  established?" 

"Thirty-seven  years." 

"Do  you  recollect  filling  an  order  for  a  safe  from  Prof. 
Arnold?" 

"I  do,  sir.    It  is  the  first  order  on  our  books." 

"Are  those  books  in  existence  to-day?" 

"They  are,  sir,"  said  the  old  business  man,  with  pride. 

"Do  you  happen  to  know  whether  that  safe  ordered 
by  Prof.  Arnold  was  still  used  by  him  at  the  time  of  the 
fire  which  destroyed  his  home?" 

"I  have  reason  to  believe  so.  I  remember  seeing  it 
and  reminding  him  of  the  circumstance  in  his  house 
within  a  year." 

"You  regarded  it  as  in  a  way  the  foundation  stone 
of  your  business  prosperity?" 

"It  was  our  first  sale." 

"What,  if  you  recollect,  was  the  number  of  the  safe — 
an  old-fashioned  article,  I  presume?" 

"Somewhat  antiquated  in  style,  sir.  I  have  consulted 
our  books,  at  the  request  of  the  officer — Mr.  McCaus- 
land,  I  think.  The  number  of  the  safe  sold  to  Benjamin 
Arnold  was  1863." 

"Were  you  here,"  asked  Shagarach,  "when  Prof.  Bor- 
rowscales  read  out  the  number  which  was  jotted  down 
upon  a  sheet  of  paper  in  Floyd's  desk?" 

"I  was.    I  was  struck  at  the  identity." 


354  THE  INCENDIARY. 

"You  have  no  means  of  knowing,  however,  whether 
or  not  that  number  was  a  memorandum  of  the  date  in 
the  life  of  Bakunin,  the  anarchistic  writer?'' 

"I  have  not." 

"Mr.  McCausland,  again,"  said  the  district  attorney. 

For  the  third  time  the  inspector  came  to  the  box  from 
the  ante-room  through  the  door  at  which  he  watched  and 
listened. 

"You  occupied  a  cell  adjoining  that  of  the  prisoner  in 
the  state  prison  at  one  time?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Will  you  state  any  conversation  relevant  to  this  trial 
which  you  may  have  overheard?" 

"It  was  a  soliloquy  rather  than  a  conversation." 

"Describe  this  soliloquy,  then." 

"Floyd  used  to  talk  at  night  a  good  deal.  He  wasn't 
sleeping  well."  The  court  was  hushed  at  this  strange 
introduction.  "There  was  a  communication  between  our 
cells  and  by  listening  carefully  one  night  I  managed  to 
make  out  what  he  was  saying." 

"And  what  was  he  saying?''  asked  the  district  attor- 
ney, while  Floyd  studied  the  witness'  face  with  more 
curiosity  than  he  had  yet  at  any  time  shown. 

"  'Don't  tell  anybody,  Aronson.' " 

To  the  surprise  of  everybody  the  accused  burst  out 
into  a  hearty  laugh,  which  rung  through  the  court-room 
and  evidently  nettled  the  whole  prosecuting  force.  Then 
he  bent  over  to  Shagarach  and  whispered  in  his  ear. 
Shagarach  jumped  to  his  feet,  promptly  as  usual,  for  the 
district  attorney  had  finished.  His  opportunity  had  come. 

"What  crime  had  you  committed,  Mr.  McCausland, 
that  the  state  should  isolate  you  in  one  of  its  prison  cells?" 

"I  was  a  voluntary  prisoner,"  answered  the  detective. 
He  had  put  his  neck  in  the  noose  and  must  bear  the 
strangling  as  cheerfully  as  possible. 

"For  what  purpose?" 

"A  professional  one." 

"You  were  there  to  win  the  confidence  of  the  accused 
arrd  extort  a  confession  of  guilt  from  him  if  possible?" 


THE  INCENDIARY.  355 

"Yes,  sir.'* 

"Did  you  succeed?" 

"Owing  to  the  cleverness  of  the  prisoner  and  his  hav- 
ing been  forewarned,  I  failed." 

"Not  owing  to  the  fact  that  he  is  innocent,  you  think?" 

"I  think  not." 

Shagarach  seemed  satisfied  not  to  press  this  further 
and  asked  for  the  blotter,  which  was  in  the  foreman's 
hand. 

"You  were  requested  to  state  any  conversation  rele- 
vant to  this  cause  which  you  had  with  the  accused  while 
in  prison.  You  answered  with  a  few  meaningless  words 
pronounced  in  sleep.  I  confess  the  relevance  of  all  this 
later  testimony  escapes  me/'  said  Shagarach. 

"The  next  witness,  Miss  Lamb,"  answered  the  district 
attorney,  "will  make  the  connection  of  all  these  threads 
of  testimony  plain." 

"Do  you  know  Mr.  Aronson,  the  piano  dealer?"  asked 
Shagarach  of  the  witness. 

"By  sight." 

McCausland,  though  he  kept  his  own  identity  as  hid- 
den as  possible,  knew  the  whole  city  by  sight. 

"Is  it  not  possible  to  construe  this  note  on  the  postal 
card  as  referring  to  the  refractory  lock  of  Miss  Barlow's 
piano,  which  the  accused  had  recently  purchased  for  her 
as  a  birthday  present?" 

"Out  of  the  $309  he  earned?''  asked  McCausland. 

"That  and  the  lifelong  income  he  has  enjoyed  from 
his  mother's  property,''  said  Shagarach.  Whereupon 
McCausland,  Bigelow  and  the  whole  court-room  stared, 
and  even  Chief  Justice  Playfair's  trained  eyebrow  was 
perceptibly  lifted. 

"Miss  Serena  Lamb,"  called  the  district  attorney.  How 
Aronson  blushed  and  fidgeted  when  his  idol,  with  eyes 
downcast  in  virgin  shyness,  tripped  in  from  the  corridor 
at  a  constable's  beck  and  mounted  the  stand! 

"Glory  alleluia!''  she  said,  with  her  right  hand  raised, 
when  the  clerk  had  repeated  the  formula  of  the  oath. 

"You   are   a    member  of   the   salvation   army,   Miss 


356  THE  INCENDIARY. 

Lamb?"  asked  the  district  attorney.  Her  bonnet  and 
garb  sufficiently  answered  the  question. 

"You  are  acquainted  with  a  young  man  named  Saul 
Aronson?"  was  the  first  question  put  to  Serena. 

"I  was  made  known  unto  such  an  one,"  said  the  girl, 
in  quasi-scriptural  parlance. 

"By  whom?" 

"Pineapple  Jupiter." 

"How  did  Aronson  first  present  himself  to  your  at- 
tention?" 

"As  one  who  had  seen  the  error  of  unbelief  and  wished 
to  repent.  Alleluia!" 

"As  a  convert,  then?  Did  you  ever  have  any  private 
conference  with  this  convert?" 

"I  did." 

"Will  you  kindly  tell  the  jury  when  and  where?" 

"It  was  the  month  of  May  at  my  home  in  the  city." 

"In  the  parlor  of  your  house?" 

"Even  so." 

"On  what  date,  if  you  remember?" 

"Early  in  May,  but  the  day  escapes  me." 

"State  the  substance  of  your  conversation." 

"The  youth  had  been  a  sinner,  but  his  heart  was 
touched  and  he  unburdened  his  misdeeds  to  me,  of 
which  this  was  the  gravest: 

"While  he  was  still  unregenerate  a  certain  youth  of 
his  own  age" — she  looked  full  at  Robert — "had  tempted 
him  with  a  bribe  to  enter  a  certain  house  wrongfully 
and  open  a  certain  safe.  For  the  youth  had  cunning  in 
that  craft.  The  room  he  entered  was  filled  with  books 
and  a  canary  bird  slept  in  his  cage,  for  it  was  evening, 
and  a  desk  stood  before  a  window  in  one  corner." 

"I  desire  to  call  the  attention  of  the  jury  to  this  de- 
scription," said  the  district  attorney.  "It  corresponds 
strikingly  with  the  description  of  Prof.  Arnold's  study 
in  the  printed  copy  of  Bertha  Lund's  testimony  at  the 
hearing,  which  is  in  their  possession.  Proceed,  Miss 
Lamb." 

"And  the  name  of  the  tempter  was  Robert  Floyd." 
The  hush  deepened  perceptibly  as  Serena  paused. 


THE  INCENDIARY.  357 

"Upon  his  knees  with  many  tools,"  she  resumed,  "he 
toiled  at  the  door,  but  it  was  firm  and  resisted  his  skill. 
Nevertheless  the  youth  stated  that  he  would  have  suc- 
ceeded had  not  an  interruption  come  and  startled  the 
guilty  pair." 

"Are  there  any  further  details  you  desire  to  add  to 
this  recital?" 

"Only  that  it  was  done  on  the  Sabbath  and  surely  un- 
blessed labor." 

"You  have  not  seen  the  convert  since?" 

"Never,  but  I  have  heard  that  the  courage  of  his  faith 
deserted  him." 

"Is  the  man  here?"  asked  the  district  attorney,  turning 
toward  Aronson — poor  Aronson,  who  sat  open-mouthed, 
goggle-eyed,  with  gaze  riveted  on  the  pale  sweet  face  in 
the  bonnet.  Now  a  thousand  eyes  were  turned  upon 
him,  but  still  he  saw  only  the  rosebud  mouth  and  awaited 
breathlessly  its  answer. 

"That  is  the  man,"  answered  the  witness,  pointing. 
The  greater  "Ecce  homo"  of  history  scarcely  drew  forth 
such  a  murmur  from  the  bystanders.  But  the  gavel  of 
the  crier  was  heard  rapping  for  attention,  for  the  court 
had  risen  promptly  at  the  strokes  of  the  clock. 

"One  moment,  your  honor,"  said  Shagarach,  rising, 
after  a  whispered  consultation  with  his  assistant,  now 
voluble  and  stuttering  with  excitement.  "I  desire  to 
ask  that  the  court  issue  a  warrant  for  the  arrest  of  the 
last  witness,  Miss  Serena  Lamb,  on  the  charge  of  mali- 
cious perjury." 


CHAPTER  LII. 
THE  ROSEBUD  MOUTH. 

"What  in  the  world  is  he  smiling  for?"  asked  Emily. 
Inspector  McCausland's  smile  was  a  barometer  of  her 
own  uneasiness,  and  she  could  not  help  remarking  his  un- 


358  THE  INCENDIARY. 

usual  geniality  at  the  opening  of  the  court  on  Wednesday. 

The  previous  day's  work  had  closed  with  a  sturdy 
wrangle  between  Shagarach  and  the  district  attorney. 
Whether  it  was  that  Shagarach's  charge  of  perjury  was 
not  sufficiently  supported  (it  was  merely  Aronson's  word 
against  Serena's)  or  that  Bigelow's  inelastic  mind  char- 
acteristically clung  in  the  face  of  cogent  proof  to  the 
convictions  it  had  already  formed,  he  had  objected  might 
and  main  to  the  proposed  issue  of  a  warrant  and  even 
gone  so  far  as  to  protest  against  his  learned  brother's 
effort  to  intimidate  a  witness  of  the  weaker  sex.  Mc- 
Causland  had  amicably  agreed  to  secure  the  attendance  of 
Miss  Lamb  for  cross-examination,  and  so  the  confusion 
subsided.  Miss  Lamb  was  there  and  so  was  the  inspec- 
tor. But  what  made  him  smile? 

"Good  morning,  Miss  Barlow,"  said  a  familiar  voice, 
close  to  Emily's  ear. 

"Bertha  Lund!"  she  exclaimed.  There  it  was,  the 
large,  fair  Swedish  face,  with  sparkling  blue  eyes  that 
danced  with  the  pleasure  of  the  surprise.  After  a  moment 
of  silent  study  Emily  gave  her  a  bear-like  squeeze  and 
only  released  her  that  she  might  shake  hands  with 
Robert. 

"It's  none  of  my  doing,  Mr.  Robert,"  said  Bertha.  "If 
I  could,  I'd  have  staid  home  in  Upsala,  but  I  gave  my 
word  to  Mr.  McCausland  that  I'd  come  back,  and  here 
I  am  to  keep  it." 

"But  we  thought  you  were  lost.  We  saw  the  body 
and  buried  it,"  cried  Emily. 

"Oh,  that  was  another  Bertha  Lund.  Mr.  McCaus- 
land thought  it  was  me,  too." 

"Another  one  from  Upsala?'' 

"Why,  if  you  took  all  the  Bertha  Lunds  and  Nils 
Nilssons  in  Upsala  you  could  fill  a  big  town  with  them," 
said  the  housemaid,  laughing. 

"And  how  did  you  happen  to  go  home  to  Sweden?" 
asked  Robert. 

"Mrs.  Arnold  wanted  another  house-girl  and  I'd  told 
her  about  my  sister  Christina,  who  is  old  enough  now 


THE  INCENDIARY.  359 

to  be  handy.  She  was  kind  enough  to  pay  my  passage 
over  so  I  could  bring  her  out  with  me,  and  let  me  stay 
all  summer,  too.  Did  you  ever  see  such  goodness?" 

"She's  a  very  uncommon  mistress,  certainly,"  said 
Emily. 

"It  was  the  day  after  we  were  talking  at  Hillsborough 
that  I  started/'  said  Bertha.  "Do  you  remember?" 

"Yes,  indeed,"  answered  Emily,  brightening  up,  "and 
now  let  us  finish  that  talk.  I  have  a  hundred  questions 
I  want  to  ask  you.  Shall  you  testify  to-day?" 

"No;  I've  only  just  got  here  and  the  lawyer  said  he 
would  leave  me  till  the  last.  The  voyage  is  very  tiresome, 
you  know/' 

"Then  come  with  me,"  cried  Emily,  with  animation, 
and  drew  Bertha  after  her  into  the  ante-room.  Here 
Robert  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  from  time  to  time  ques- 
tioning, explaining,  measuring  with  her  hands,  as  if 
she  were  satisfying  herself  on  doubtful  points  of  her 
theory.  And  when  she  finally  came  out,  in  the  middle 
of  Miss  Lamb's  cross-examination,  her  face  wore  a  smile 
so  auroral  that  even  Chief  Justice  Playfair's  eyes  left  the 
witness  and  wandered  over  toward  the  true-hearted  girl. 

"Mr.  Aronson  told  you  that  he  worked  on  his  knees 
at  this  mysterious  safe?"  was  Shagarach's  opening  ques- 
tion to  Miss  Lamb. 

"On  his  knees,"  answered  the  maiden,  still  bonneted 
and  fanning  herself  with  Emily's  fan,  which  she  had 
forgotten  to  return  in  the  excitement  of  the  previous 
evening. 

"Mr.  Aronson  is  not  an  uncommonly  tall  man,  is  he?" 

"A  trifle  taller  than  you  are." 

"But  yet  rot  above  the  average,"  persisted  Shagarach. 

"Perhaps  not." 

"The  government  wishes  us  to  believe  that  there  was 
a  bomb  purposely  placed  under  this  safe.  That  would 
raise  it  from  the  floor  several  inches,  would  it  not?" 

"I  suppose  so.     I  know  nothing  about  the  bomb." 

"Will  you  kindly  explain  how  the  locksmith  could  be 
kneeling  while  at  work  on  a  safe  which,  according  to 


360  THE  INCENDIARY. 

the  testimony  of  Miss  Lund,  at  the  hearing,  was  resting 
on  a  shelf  as  high  as  her  waist  from  the  ground?" 

The  witness  fanned  herself  nervously  and  once  or 
twice  opened  her  lips  to  reply,  but  no  sound  came  forth. 
A  wave  of  frightened  sympathy  passed  through  the  spec- 
tators in  the  prolonged  interim  of  silence,  like  that  which 
seizes  an  audience  when  an  orator  falters  and  threatens 
to  break  down. 

"You  do  not  answer,  Miss  Lamb?'' 

"I  feel  faint,"  said  the  girl.  A  chair  and  a  glass  of 
water  were  hurried  to  her  aid. 

"Are  you  sure  this  is  the  man  Aronson  who  visited 
you?"  asked  Shagarach  when  she  had  recovered. 

"Oh,  yes." 

"Then  we  have  two  Aronsons  in  the  case;  Mr.  Saul 
Aronson,  my  assistant,  and  Mr.  Jacob  Aronson,  the  piano 
dealer,  who  will  testify  to  having  received  the  postal  card 
copied  on  the  blotting-pad.  And  this  Mr.  Aronson  who 
visited  you  declared  that  he  had  been  a  locksmith,  if  I 
understood  your  story?'' 

"He  said  so." 

"That  is  not  surprising.  Mr.  Aronson,  my  assistant, 
was  formerly  a  locksmith.  What  was  the  date  of  your 
interview?" 

"The  first  part  of  July.  I  can't  remember  the  exact 
day,"  replied  the  witness,  a  bit  nettled.  The  rusticity  was 
rubbing  on  again  in  her  manner,  and  to  Saul  Aronson 
it  actually  seemed  that  her  cheekbones  were  becoming 
prominent,  like  those  of  her  horrid  aunt  whom  he  had 
met  on  that  fateful  evening.  But  this  may  have  been  an 
optical  illusion.  The  sympathy  of  the  spectators  trembled 
in  the  balance.  She  seemed  so  young  and  dove-like. 
But  there  stood  Shagarach  confronting  her,  hostile,  skep- 
tical, uncompromising. 

"Mr.  Aronson  had  made  this  alleged  attempt  to  open 
a  safe  on  Sunday  evening,  you  said?" 

"On  the  evening  of  the  Sabbath." 

Here  Aronson  gesticulated  and  whispered  in  Shaga- 
rach's  ear.  The  lawyer  listened  calmly. 


THE  INCENDIARY.  361 

"When  did  you  first  become  acquainted  with  him?" 

"I  don't  remember  exactly.  He  came  to  our  meetings 
for  a  long  time  before  I  was  introduced  to  him." 

Serena  blushed  a  little  and  Aronson's  cheeks  were  all 
abloom. 

"He  was  a  convert  to  your  faith?'' 

"So  we  thought." 

"How  long  had  he  been  converted?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"Pineapple  Jupiter  says  he  introduced  you  to  Mr. 
Aronson  about  four  months  ago,  if  the  district  attorney 
reckons  rightly  from  his  periodic  hair-cuts.  Then  at 
the  time  of  the  visit  to  your  house  in  July  he  must  have 
been  a  convert  nearly  two  months?" 

"Perhaps/' 

"But  the  will  was  only  drawn  on  June  7.  And  Mr. 
Aronson,  I  understand  you  to  testify,  yielded  to  this 
temptation  before  he  was  converted?" 

The  witness  did  not  answer,  but  looked  around  the 
court-room  as  if  for  sympathy. 

"Are  we  to  understand  that  he  broke  into  the  safe 
before  the  will  was  placed  there?" 

The  witness  fluttered  her  fan  nervously  and  her  lips 
were  quivering.  She  looked  down. 

"Sunday  evening,  you  said.  You  are  probably  not 
aware  that  Prof.  Arnold  read  in  his  own  library  every 
Sunday  evening  up  to  the  time  of  his  death?" 

Serena  began  to  cry.  Instantly  the  tension  of  the 
audience  was  relaxed  and  comments  passed  to  and  fro. 

"She  belongs  to  the  romantic  school  of  statisticians," 
whispered  Wye.  Ecks  responded  with  a  cartoon  of  "Miss 
Meekness,  making  a  slip  of  the  decimal  point.'' 

"Religious  mania;  hysterical  mendacity,"  a  doctor 
diagnosed  it,  with  a  pompous  frown. 

"Little  minx  had  a  craving  for  notoriety,"  said  a  wom- 
an, elderly,  unmarried  and  plain. 

"I  should  say  it  illustrates  the  pernicious  effect  of  novel 
reading  on  a  rustic  brain,"  murmured  a  clerical  per- 
sonage, clearing  his  throat  before  he  delivered  himself. 


362  THE  INCENDIARY. 

Suddenly  Shagarach's  insistence  left  him.  His  voice 
softened.  With  his  very  first  question,  the  distressed 
look,  half  of  reproach,  half  of  sympathy,  toward  Serena, 
cleared  away  from  Aronson's  face. 

"Wasn't  Mr.  Aronson  agitated  on  that  evening,  Miss 
Lamb?" 

She  blushed  amid  her  tears  and  her  answer  was  less 
defiant. 

"Extremely  agitated." 

"Wasn't  his  story  to  you  somewhat  confused  in  the 
telling?" 

"Very  confused,  yes,  sir." 

"And  perhaps  the  outlines  blurred  still  more  in  your 
memory  by  the  lapse  of  time?'' 

"Perhaps.  I  meant  to  speak  of  that  myself,"  answered 
Serena,  brightening.  Whereat  the  entire  court-room 
brightened.  Shagarach's  inflections  became  kind,  almost 
genial  now.  One  would  have  thought  she  was  his  own 
witness,  he  stroked  her  so  gently. 

"And  his  accent  was  somewhat  hard  to  follow?" 

"Oh,  very." 

"He  is  not  perfectly  familiar  with  our  language  as  yet?" 

"No,  he  speaks  it  poorly/' 

The  court-room  was  all  curiosity. 

"Didn't  this  picture  of  the  study,  which  you  have 
quoted,  come  in  as  part  of  his  description  of  a  law  case?" 

"Why,  yes ;  he  began  talking  about  the  Floyd  case." 

"In  which  he  was  deeply  interested  at  that  time,  as 
my  assistant.  That,  however,  he  did  not  make  clear  to 
you?" 

"No." 

"Can  you  swear  that  this  whole  picture  of  a  Sunday- 
night  entrance  and  experiment  on  the  safe  was  not  an 
imaginary  one — a  piece  of  fiction,  invented  and  vividly 
told  in  the  first  person  to  illustrate  what  Robert  Floyd 
might  easily  have  done  if  he  had  desired  to  destroy  the 
will,  but  what " 

Shagarach  inclined  slightly  toward  the  jury,  "but  what 
he  evidently  did  not  do?" 


THE  INCENDIARY.  363 

"Perhaps.  Truly  I  couldn't  catch  half  of  what  he  was 
saying  when  he  began  to  talk  rapidly." 

"I  myself  am  a  locksmith.  He  could  come  and  give 
me  money.  We  go  Sunday  night  Nobody  home. 
House  all  still.  I  get  down  on  my  knees.  File  a  little. 
Drill.  Somebody  come.  I  go  away.  Come  again.  Try 
again." 

Serena  smiled  a  smile  that  sent  waves  of  sunshine 
through  the  room.  Shagarach  had  not  once  descended 
to  mimicry  of  his  assistant's  dialect.  But  the  broken 
fragments  of  speech,  the  confused  arrangement,  seemed 
to  call  before  Serena's  eye  an  amusing  picture  of  her 
lovelorn  swain's  incoherence. 

"Perhaps  I  was  altogether  mistaken,"  she  volunteered. 

Shagarach  waved  her  with  courtesy  to  the  nonplussed 
though  apparently  still  obstinate  district  attorney.  A 
long  conference  followed  among  the  prosecuting  law- 
yers, while  Emily  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief. 

Over  in  his  front  seat  Ecks  was  gazing  at  Shagarach, 
as  if  trying  to  pierce  the  great  brow,  not  opened  showily, 
but  masked,  as  it  were,  by  the  loose-falling  hair.  The 
marvelous  skill  of  his  tactics — first,  the  breaking  down 
of  Serena's  story  through  its  intrinsic  discrepancies,  then 
the  building  up  from  her  own  lips  of  a  hypothetical  case 
in  the  jurors'  minds — all  without  deviating  a  hair  line 
from  true  courtesy  and  delicacy  of  treatment  —  sank 
deeply  into  the  novelist's  heart.  He  did  not  reply  to 
Wye's  comment  on  the  underplot. 

"Incarnate  self-control!"  he  muttered  to  himself. 

But  alas  for  poor  Saul  Aronson!  It  was  bad  enough 
to  be  compelled  to  flee  from  suspicion  post  haste  through 
the  gateway  of  public  ridicule.  But  to  realize  at  last^that 
Serena  was  human  and  no  angel — capable  of  pique, 
brusqueness  and  tears — capable  even  of  resisting  Shaga- 
rach! The  scales  of  illusion  fell  from  his  eyes  and  he 
hung  his  head,  a  chastened  youth. 

"The  redirect  is  deferred,"  said  Bigelow,  and  Serena, 
after  returning  the  fan  to  Emily,  stepped  softly  out.  Her 


364  THE  INCENDIARY. 

footfalls  barely  broke  the  dead  silence  as  she  picked  her 
way  through  the  crowd. 

Aronson  lifted  his  eyes  to  her  face.  What  imperfec- 
tions he  noted  now!  The  eyebrows  too  level,  the  rose- 
bud mouth  too  small  and  the  cheekbones  unmistakably 
present,  even  if  barely  breaking  the  curve.  It  was  fated 
so.  Doubtless  in  time  he  would  follow  old  Abraham 
Barentzen's  counsel  and  take  some  comely  daughter  of 
Israel  to  wife,  well-dowered,  a  good  housekeeper,  and 
free  from  tittle-tattle.  But  never  again  would  his  naive 
heart  palpitate  with  such  virginal  ecstasy  as  when  he 
first  gazed  through  the  rose-misted  spectacles  of  love  on 
that  sweetly  imperfect  gentile  maiden. 

"We  shall  now  offer  a  mass  of  evidence,"  said  the  dis- 
trict attorney,  "tending  to  prove  the  crucial  point  of  ex- 
clusive opportunity." 

Seven  witnesses  took  the  box,  one  after  another,  and 
in  response  to  Badgers  questions,  swore  that  they  were 
neighbors  of  the  Arnolds,  were  wide-awake  and  observ- 
ant about  the  time  of  the  fire,  but  saw  no  person  coming 
out  of  the  house  either  in  front  or  rear.  The  evidence 
was  negative,  but  cumulatively  it  produced  its  effect,  lead- 
ing the  minds  of  the  jury  away  from  Serena  Lamb  and 
her  legend  to  the  real  core  of  the  puzzle.  By  the  time 
the  last  witness  on  this  point  arrived,  a  cordon  of  watch- 
ers, completely  environing  the  house,  had  been  drawn 
around  it  by  the  government,  and  it  seemed  impossible 
that  any  one  could  have  slipped  through  unobserved. 


CHAPTER  LIU. 

A  DUMB  EYEWITNESS. 

"Hodgkins  Hodgkins,"  answered  the  first  witness  who 
testified  after  the  noon  recess. 

"When  did  you  first  learn  that  Prof.  Arnold  had  made 
a  will?''  asked  the  district  attorney. 


THE  INCENDIARY.  365 

"On  receipt  of  a  letter  from  my  esteemed  friend,  dated 
June  15." 

"What  was  the  reason  of  Prof.  Arnold's  informing  you 
of  his  action?" 

"A  long-standing,  I  may  say  a  life-long  friendship,  had 
induced  him  to  select  me  as  his  executor.'' 

"When  you  heard  of  his  death,  what  action  did  you 
take?" 

"I  was  in  New  York  at  the  time  on  important  business, 
which  I  proceeded  to  expedite  as  far  as  its  weighty  nature 
would  permit.  Large  bodies  travel  slowly,  you  know. 
Then  when  the  transaction  was  completed  to  my  satisfac- 
tion I  repaired  to  the  city  and  visited  the  home  of  my 
departed  friend,  the  testator.'' 

"Did  you  let  Floyd  know  of  your  coming?" 

"I  apprised  him  of  my  intention  and  instructed  him 
to  lock  the  room  in  which  the  document  was  guarded." 

"Did  you  actually  call  on  the  afternoon  of  the  fire?'' 

"A  short  delay,  occasioned  by  my  failure  to  find  Mr. 
Hardwood,  the  locksmith,  who  was  to  assist  me  in  open- 
ing the  safe,  retarded  my  arrival  until  3:45.  At  that  time 
the  paper  was  beyond  my  reach." 

"You  could  not  testify  as  to  the  contents  of  the  will?'' 

"Only  in  a  general  way." 

"Do  you  know  any  reason  why,  if  the  accused  were 
expecting  you,  as  he  stated  that  he  was  when  he 
ordered  the  housemaid  to  dust  the  room,  do  you  know 
any  reason  why  he  should  leave  the  house  suddenly,  with- 
out any  instructions  as  to  your  reception?" 

"That's  the  best  point  the  prosecution  has  made!''  ex- 
claimed Wye. 

Ecks  was  executing  a  series  of  caricatures  illustrating 
the  involution  of  Hodgkins'  face  back  into  a  crab-apple. 
"You  leave  out  his  cunning,"  suggested  Wye,  looking 
over  the  heads. 

"Not  unless  he  had  lighted  this  fire,"  said  the  senior 
member  solemnly.  At  which  answer  Shagarach  rose 
with  a  shade  more  promptitude  than  usual. 


366  THE  INCENDIARY. 

"Why  do  you  profess  to  be  the  executor  of  Benjamin 
Arnold's  will?" 

"I  am  so  styled  over  his  own  signature,"  answered 
Hodgkins,  flourishing  the  professor's  letter. 

"Wasn't  it  proved  in  the  probate  proceedings  that  you 
were  only  to  carry  out  certain  minor  legacies?" 

"It  is  not  becoming  in  me  to  anticipate  the  decision 
of  the  honorable  court  in  that  matter." 

"As  executor,  then,  did  you  try  to  uphold  the  will  of 
your  friend?" 

"In  my  opinion  as  a  lawyer,  it  cannot  be  upheld.'' 

"In  my  opinion  as  a  lawyer,  it  can.  I  ask  you  a  ques- 
tion. Did  you  make  any  effort  to  uphold  the  will  of 
which  you  claim  to  have  been  nominated  executor?" 

"I  satisfied  myself  that  the  task  was  fruitless." 

"You  represented  a  client  desirous  of  breaking  the  will 
at  the  probate  proceedings,  did  you  not?" 

"The  will  was  already  broken,  canceled,  destroyed." 

"Do  you  or  do  you  not  perceive  a  gross  indelicacy  in 
your  desperate  attempt  to  break  the  will  of  which  you 
say  you  were  appointed  executor,  in  order  to  retrieve 
the  fallen  fortunes  of  the  disinherited  heir?" 

"I  am  not  here  to  discuss  my  conduct  with  you,  sir," 
answered  Hodgkins  testily,  for  the  cross-examiner  flus- 
ters quickly  when  he  becomes  the  cross-examined. 

"When  did  you  arrive  in  New  York?" 

"Friday  evening." 

"When  did  you  call  on  the  Arnolds?" 

"On  the  Arnolds?''  repeated  Hodgkins,  as  if  he  did 
not  understand  the  question. 

"On  Harry  Arnold,  I  mean?" 

"Oh,  Friday  evening." 

"You  went  there  directly?" 

"I  did." 

"They  were  your  clients?" 

"I  am  Mrs.  Arnold's  legal  adviser." 

"You  told  Harry  Arnold  of  your  intention  to  call  at 
his  uncle's  on  the  following  day  and  open  the  safe?" 


THE  INCENDIARY.  367 

"I  believe  I  announced  my  intention  to  approach  the 
affair  with  expedition." 

"Did  he  object  or  suggest  a  postponement ?" 

"I  cannot  remember  that  he  approved  or  demurred." 

"Do  you  mean  to  testify  that  you  informed  Floyd  by 
letter  the  hour  at  which  you  would  call?" 

"I  announced  my  general  intention  of  calling." 

"In  the  same  letter  in  which  you  requested  him  to  lock 
the  study?" 

"There  was  only  one  letter.  It  was  dispatched  from 
New  York." 

"Then  how  did  Floyd  learn  of  your  contemplated 
visit?" 

"I  have  understood  that  he  was  informed  by  Mrs.  Ar- 
nold that  afternoon." 

"From  whom  did  you  understand  this?" 

"From  Mrs.  Arnold  herself,"  said  Hodgkins,  looking 
toward  that  lady. 

"You  told  her  the  hour?" 

"Half-past  two." 

"And  Mrs.  Arnold  called  on  Floyd,  I  believe,  at  about 
2:45?" 

"I  believe  so.  I  am  not  informed  as  to  the  exact 
minute." 

"Was  she  there  by  appointment  with  you?" 

"Not  exactly.  However,  I  had  informed  her  of  the 
time." 

"As  you  stated  before.  Then  Floyd  only  knew  of 
your  proposed  visit  at  second  hand  through  Mrs.  Ar- 
nold?" 

"I  had  not  informed  him." 

"You  might  have  entered  and  taken  the  will  away 
without  his  knowledge,  then?" 

"It  might  have  been  done,  though  I  assure  you  we 
had  no  such  intention." 

"When  did  you  arrive  at  the  house?" 

"At  3:45." 

"And  Floyd  had  left  a  little  before  3:30.  He  had 
waited  for  one  hour,  without  the  courtesy  of  an  appoint- 


368  THE  INCENDIARY. 

ment  from  you.  Then  because  he  chose  to  leave  the 
house,  and  did  not  wait  upon  your  pleasure,  you  infer 
that  he  must  have  committed  arson  and  procured  the 
death  of  seven  of  his  fellow-creatures.  That  will  do." 

"Charles  Checkerberry." 

A  railroad  conductor  stepped  forward  to  take  the  oath. 

"What  names!"  said  Ecks  to  Wye.  "It's  like  a  census 
of  Bedlam  Proper." 

But  Wye  did  not  answer.  He  was  wondering  if  he 
could  weave  the  safe  explosion  into  the  plot  of  his  next 
melodrama. 

"You  are  a  conductor  on  the  Southern  railroad?"  asked 
the  district  attorney. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"What  time  did  your  train  leave  the  city  on  the  after- 
noon of  Saturday,  June  28?'' 

"The  express  train  left  at  3:29." 

"Did  you  see  the  accused  riding  on  that  train?'' 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Get  a  full  look  at  him." 

"I  am  positive  that  is  the  man.  I  remember  the  fact 
because  he  had  no  ticket  and  had  to  pay  his  fare " 

"To  what  point?" 

"To  Woodlawn." 

"Go  on." 

"He  paid  his  fare  and  declined  to  take  the  coupon, 
which  is  worth  ten  cents  when  presented  at  the  ticket 
office.  Told  me  to  keep  it  myself." 

"This  generosity  is  not  common  among  passengers?" 

"No,  sir.  That  is  why  the  incident  impressed  itself 
upon  my  memory." 

"Did  you  notice  anything  unusual  in  the  appearance 
of  the  accused?" 

"I  noticed  he  seemed  rather  excited." 

"And  got  off  at  Woodlawn?" 

"Yes,  sir;  jumped  off  at  Woodlawn  and  crossed  the 
fields  over  toward  the  woods." 

"On  the  unfrequented  side  of  the  station?" 


THE  INCENDIARY.  369 

"Yes,  sir;  toward  the  cemetery.  There  is  only  one 
house  on  that  side." 

"Whose  house  is  that?"  asked  Shagarach. 

"The  Arnolds',  I  believe." 

"Do  you  know  Harry  Arnold?" 

"No,  sir." 

"He  rides  in  on  the  Northern  line  usually,  I  presume?" 

"I  believe  so;  it  is  more  up-town." 

"In  the  city,  you  mean?" 

"Yes,  sir;  a  great  deal  more  convenient  to  the  high- 
toned  section/' 

"Then  if  this  passenger  were  Harry  Arnold  he  would 
have  had  to  pay  a  cash  fare  on  your  railroad,  as  well  as 
one  not  used  to  riding  over  the  road,  like  Floyd?" 

"I  suppose  so.  We  don't  exchange  tickets  with  the 
Northern." 

"You  see  a  great  many  hundred  faces  in  the  course 
of  a  week?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"How  many  tall,  dark  young  men,  wearing  full  mus- 
taches and  answering  to  the  general  description  of  the 
accused,  should  you  say  you  had  seen  since  June  28?" 

"Oh,  I  couldn't  say  as  to  that." 

"A  hundred?" 

"More,  probably." 

"But  out  of  these  hundred  or  more  you  have  a  distinct 
recollection  of  this  one,  the  accused?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"And  would  swear  his  life  away  on  the  strength  of 
your  recollection?" 

"Well,  not  exactly " 

"That  is  all." 

"One  moment,"  said  the  district  attorney.  "Your  occu- 
pation and  experience  give  you  exceptional  training  in 
the  study  of  faces,  do  they  not?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

At  this  moment  Harry  Arnold  came  into  the  court- 
room, attended  by  a  great  St.  Bernard.  The  young  man 
had  hardly  stepped  inside  the  bar,  when  a  deep  bark 


370  THE  INCENDIARY. 

was  heard  and  the  dog  leaped  toward  the  accused,  stand- 
ing on  his  hind  legs  and  placing  his  paws  on  the  wall 
of  the  cage,  while  he  licked  Robert's  hands  like  a  spaniel. 
Emily  was  deeply  affected  and  tried  to  distract  Sire's 
attention,  but  he  had  eyes  only  for  his  master. 

"Down,  Sire,"  said  Robert. 

Shagarach  had  paused  during  the  interruption. 

"Will  you  kindly  shut  your  eyes,  Mr.  Checkerberry?" 
he  now  said. 

The  witness  did  as  requested.  Then  Shagarach  stepped 
up  to  Harry  Arnold  and  whispered  to  him.  Harry  looked 
at  him  oddly.  But  he  shook  off  the  momentary  confu- 
sion, and,  scarcely  looking  at  the  witness,  exclaimed: 

"Am  I  the  man  you  saw?" 

"You  are,"  answered  the  conductor. 

"Open  your  eyes.  Which  of  these  two  men  spoke  to 
you?''  asked  Shagarach.  Robert  stood  up  beside  his 
cousin.  The  resemblance  was  indeed  striking.  Both 
were  about  the  same  height  and  both  strongly  marked 
with  the  peculiarities  of  kindred  blood.  The  conductor 
turned  from  one  to  the  other. 

"Very  well,"  said  Shagarach.  "It  is  the  face  of  Jacob, 
but  the  voice  of  Esau.  For  the  present,  that  will  do." 

"Miss  Senda  Wesner." 

While  the  bakeshop  girl  was  pushing  her  way  forward 
from  the  back  seat  which  she  had  occupied,  Sire,  who 
was  squeezed  where  he  lay,  gravely  arose,  climbed  the 
vacated  witness-box  and  spread  his  great  limbs  out,  ma- 
jestically contemplating  the  spectators. 

"This  is  the  one  eyewitness  of  the  crime/'  said  the  dis- 
trict attorney. 

"But  unfortunately  dumb,"  added  Shagarach.  Just 
then  an  impulse  seized  Emily,  who  had  left  the  cage  for 
a  moment — Emily,  the  most  shrinking  of  girls — and 
catching  a  large  waste-basket  which  stood  under  the 
lawyers'  desks  to  receive  the  litter  that  accumulates  in 
trials,  she  stood  up  and  shoved  it  toward  the  dog. 

To  everybody's  surprise,  he  scrambled  to  his  feet  in 
alarm,  backed  hastily  away  and  barked  continuously  at 


THE  INCENDIARY.  371 

the  harmless  object.  Then  before  the  whole  court, 
judges,  jury  and  all,  Emily  clapped  her  hands  and  gave 
a  girlish  shriek  of  delight — only  to  sink  in  her  place 
afterward,  as  the  spectators  smiled,  and  hide  her  blushes 
behind  her  fan.  But  it  was  some  little  while  before  Sire 
would  let  her  pat  him. 

"You  work  opposite  the  Arnold  house,  Miss  Wesner?'' 
asked  the  district  attorney. 

"Directly  opposite.  I  can  look  right  over  into  their 
windows,''  said  Senda. 

"But  I  hope  you  don't." 

"Well,  I  try  not  to,  but  sometimes,  you  know,  you 
can't  resist  the  inclination,"  chattered  the  bakeshop  girl. 

"You  can  always  try." 

"Oh,  I  do  try,  but  you  know — 

"Yes,  I  know.  We  all  know.  At  what  hour  did  you 
see  Floyd  coming  out  of  his  house  on  the  afternoon  of 
the  fire?" 

"The  fire  was  going  before  3 130,  because  I  saw  it.  And 
I'll  swear  Mr.  Floyd  left  the  house  at  least  four  minutes, 
probably  five,  before." 

"Walking  to  the  right  or  to  the  left?" 

"To  my  right,  his  left,"  answered  Senda,  glibly. 

"And  the  flames  broke  out  shortly  after  he  went  out?" 

"Well,  of  course "  began  the  witness,  all  primed 

with  an  argument. 

"Please  answer  yes  or  no." 

"No— I  mean  yes." 

"You  heard  the  explosion?" 

"Heard  it?    Why " 

"Where  did  it  appear  to  come  from?" 

"It  came  from  Prof.  Arnold's  study,  as  plain  as  your 
voice  comes  from  you,  but  I  don't  see — 

"That  will  do,"  said  the  district  attorney,  handing  the 
witness  over  to  Shagarach. 

"What  do  you  say  to  my  sketch  of  this  Hebe?"  asked 
Ecks. 

"The  drawing  would  be  creditable  in  a  gingerbread 
doll,"  answered  Wye. 


372  THE  INCENDIARY. 

They  were  a  sorry  pair  of  lookers-on,  both  of  them, 
appearing  to  regard  the  whole  panorama  of  creation  as 
a  sort  of  arsenal  of  happy  suggestions,  especially  estab- 
lished by  Providence  for  the  embellishment  of  their  forth- 
coming works.  But  Hans  Heiderman  in  his  back  seat 
didn't  think  she  appeared  homely  at  all  in  her  red-checked 
dress  and  flaming  hair,  done  up  in  Circassian  coils.  Of 
course  he  was  looking  at  the  soul  of  the  girl,  which  was 
better  than  gold,  and  which  neither  Ecks  nor  Wye,  for 
all  their  wise  smiles,  the  least  bit  understood. 

"You  are  rather  accurate  in  your  observations  of  time?" 
asked  Shagarach. 

"Oh,  yes;  I'm  noted  for  that.  I  haven't  looked  at 
the  clock  for  an  hour,  but  I  could  tell  you  what  time  it 
is  now." 

"Shut  your  eyes  and  tell  me." 

"It  is — about  seventeen  minutes  past  4." 

"Seventeen  and  a  half,"  announced  Shagarach,  taking- 
out  his  watch.  Every  man  in  the  room,  except  the 
judges,  had  done  likewise,  while  the  ladies  all  studied 
the  clock. 

"Very  good.  At  what  time  would  you  fix  the  explo- 
sion in  the  study?" 

"About  3:34." 

"One  minute  earlier,  then,  than  District  Chief  Wother- 
spoon.  Now,  Miss  Wesner,  do  you  recollect  anything 
about  a  peddler  in  a  green  cart  that  used  to  come  to 
Prof.  Arnold's?" 

"Oh,  that  peddler.    Yes,  indeed,  I " 

"How  long  had  he  been  vending  his  goods  through 
Cazenove  street?" 

"About  a  month.    I  know  I  never " 

"Had  you  seen  him  before  that?" 


'Never  saw  him  before  in  my  life,  but " 

"How  often  did  he  come  by?" 

"Two  or  three  times  a  week." 

She  had  almost  given  up  the  attempt  to  work  in  her 
explanations  edgewise.  The  rapid  volley  of  questions 
prevented  all  elaboration. 


THE    INCENDIARY.  373 

"How  often  did  he  stop  at  Prof.  Arnold's?" 

"Almost  every  time." 

"Was  it  Bertha  who  came  to  the  door?'' 

"No,  sir;  it  was  Ellen  generally.  She  was  the  cook, 
you  know;  got  $4  a  week,  but  she  wasn't  a  patch  on 
Bertha  just  the  same." 

"When  did  he  stop  coming  with  his— vegetables,  was 
it,  he  sold?" 

"Yes,  sir;  vegetables,  and  once  potted  plants." 

"And  when  did  he  stop  coming?" 

"Just  before  the  Arnold  fire." 

"You  never  saw  him  after  the  fire— as  a  peddler,  I 
mean?'' 

Shagarach  had  not  yet  received  an  answer  from  the 
superintendent  of  Woodlawn  cemetery,  and  was  still  in 
the  dark  about  his  assailant.  But  from  the  evidence  he 
had  he  was  satisfied  that  he  could  prove  a  connection  with 
Harry  Arnold. 

"No,  sir;  not  as  a  peddler.'' 


CHAPTER  LIV. 

THE  FOOL  OF  THE  FAMILY. 

So  McCausland  was  right,  after  all.  The  oaf  had  just 
been  captured  by  the  local  police  of  Woodlawn,  and 
inquiry  had  vindicated  the  inspector's  surmise. 

Far  back  in  our  story  there  was  mention  of  a  half- 
witted brother  of  the  Lacy  girls,  who  jumped  from  the 
Harmon  building  and  were  killed.  Nature  had  made 
one  of  her  capriciously  unequal  divisions  of  talent  in 
this  family,  gifting  the  daughters  with  all  graces  and 
allurements  of  character,  but  misshaping  their  elder 
brother,  Peter,  both  in  body  and  mind.  And  Fate,  in- 
stead of  rectifying  the  hard  allotment  by  the  merciful 
removal  of  the  oaf,  had  deprived  the  household  instead 
of  its  fairer  inmates,  leaving  the  monster  to  flourish  on, 


374  THE  INCENDIARY. 

sleeping,  breathing,  performing  all  animal  functions 
healthily,  but  reflecting  only  sorrow  into  the  heart  of  the 
mother  who  bore  him. 

The  death  of  his  sisters  had  converted  this  harmless 
driveller  into  a  maniac,  nursing  one  deadly  thought.  At 
the  Lacy  common  table  the  case  of  Robert  Floyd  was, 
of  course,  followed  with  keen  interest,  especially  since 
the  shyster,  Slack,  had  persuaded  certain  advisory  rela- 
tives, and  through  them  the  mother,  that  some  compen- 
sation in  money  for  the  loss  of  her  girls  might  result 
from  an  appeal  to  the  courts.  Shagarach's  name,  as  the 
defender,  the  possible  savior  of  Floyd,  this  wrecker  of 
their  household  peace,  had  impressed  itself  on  the  addled 
intelligence  of  the  oaf,  and  being  sufficiently  taught  to 
read  and  endowed  with  the  cunning  of  his  sort,  he  had 
begun  with  the  incoherent  letters  to  the  lawyer,  and  ended 
with  three  assaults  which  had  so  nearly  cost  him  his 
life.  Floyd,  behind  the  prison  bars,  was  beyond  his 
reach;  but  if  the  criminal  records  of  the  time  had  in- 
cluded any  attempt  to  force  a  way  into  a  jail  cell  it  is 
probable  that  the  maniac  would  have  essayed  an  imitation 
of  this.  For,  as  McCausland  had  keenly  noted,  each  of 
his  attacks  had  been  made  under  suggestion  from  the 
daily  chronicles. 

Since  the  fire  he  had  wandered  away  from  home — 
though  previously  a  devoted  house-haunter — probably 
making  the  rude  hut  in  the  forest  his  abode  and  indulging 
his  mania  amid  that  forest  solitude  in  long  fits  of  brood- 
ing. Just  why  he  chose  this  habitation  the  mother  could 
not  say,  unless  it  was  to  be  near  his  sister's  grave.  From 
time  to  time  he  had  returned,  always  to  beg  a  little  money 
or  some  articles  of  necessity,  and  when  questioned  on 
his  doings  he  had  manifested  a  temper  which  he  was 
rarely  known  to  exhibit  before. 

The  mystery  of  his  identity  with  the  peddler  was  ex- 
plained by  Mrs.  Lacy  when  Shagarach  asked  her  the 
whereabouts  of  her  son  during  June.  It  seems  there 
was  a  street  vender  named  Hotaling,  who  added  to  his 
revenue  in  summer  time  by  hiring  young  men  to  exploit 


THE  INCENDIARY.  375 

the  outlying  suburbs  with  spring  produce.  Strictly 
speaking,  a  license  would  be  required,  even  though  their 
sales  were  made  beyond  the  city  limits.  But  Hotaling 
dispensed  with  this  formality,  and  the  teamsters  he  em- 
ployed were  unsteady  fellows,  of  the  least  savory  appear- 
ance, whom  he  rewarded  with  a  commission,  keeping 
their  accounts  correct  by  the  terror  by  which  he  person- 
ally inspired  them.  Among  Hotaling's  possessions  was  a 
green  cart,  and  the  driver  selected  to  occupy  its  seat  had 
been  Peter  Lacy,  who  had  wit  enough  to  harness  a  horse 
and  make  change  (indeed,  he  was  very  shrewd  at  a  bar- 
gain), and  who  accepted  a  pittance  as  recompense.  The 
simpleton's  district  had  been  Woodlawn.  But  his  road 
from  the  city  market  took  him  close  to  Cazenove  street. 

When,  the  next  morning,  the  district  attorney  an- 
nounced that  Harry  Arnold  and  Bertha  would  testify, 
closing  the  case  for  the  prosecution,  Shagarach  knew  that 
his  time  was  at  hand. 

"Mr.  Hodgkins  has  attested  the  existence  of  a  will 
and  the  accused  himself  at  the  preliminary  hearing  ad- 
mitted knowing  that  he  was  virtually  disinherited.  We 
have,  however,  thought  it  well  to  strengthen  this  vital 
point  by  calling  a  witness  who  will  testify  to  the  same 
admission  made  upon  another  occasion.  Mr.  Harry 
Arnold." 

"You  are  a  nephew  of  the  late  Prof.  Arnold?" 

"Yes,  sir;  his  brother's  son,"  answered  Harry.  He 
was  just  the  least  bit  nervous,  his  glances  wandering  from 
Shagarach's  face  to  his  mother's  and  then  resting  with  a 
brighter  expression  on  that  of  Rosalie  March,  who  had 
come  into  the  court-room  to-day  for  the  first  time.  The 
wild  rose  in  her  cheeks  was  blooming  warmly  through 
the  gossamer  she  wore  to  hide  them  and  her  blue  eyes 
were  lifted  trustfully  to  her  lover's.  Once  they  caught 
Emily's  and  she  bowed  with  a  smile.  Emily  returned 
the  bow,  but  her  heart  was  too  full  for  smiling.  She  was 
sorry  Rosalie  had  come  that  morning,  for  Shagarach's 
manner  told  her  that  he  was  condensing  his  thoughts 
in  the  resolve  to  wring  the  truth  from  Harry. 


376  THE  INCENDIARY. 

"And  a  cousin  of  the  accused?'' 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Your  relations  have  always  been  pleasant,  I  pre- 
sume ?'' 

"We  have  never  had  any  permanent  falling-out." 

"And  are  so  still?" 

"Yes,  sir,  on  my  part.  I  hope  with  all  my  heart  the 
jury  will  find  him  innocent,"  answered  Harry,  with  every 
appearance  of  candor. 

"Have  you  ever  had  any  conversation  with  him  on 
the  subject  of  your  uncle's  will?" 

"Only  once." 

"When  was  that?" 

"Within  a  week  after  the  fire." 

"And  where?" 

"At  the  county  jail." 

"It  was  while  the  accused  was  in  custody  of  the  sheriff, 
I  believe  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"How  did  you  happen  to  visit  the  accused  at  that  time?" 

"I  was  his  only  living  kinsman.  My  visit  was  one  of 
sympathy." 

"And  what  statement  did  the  accused  make  regarding 
his  knowledge  of  the  will?" 

"Why,  I  believe  he  owned  incidentally  that  he  was 
disinherited,  but  everybody  knew  it  then.  It  was  all  over 
the  town.  So  was  I,  it  seems,  for  that  matter,"  added 
Harry. 

"Everybody's  knowledge  is  nobody's  knowledge.  We 
cannot  take  things  for  granted  because  rumor  has  spread 
them  broadcast.  We  want  your  specific  testimony  that 
the  accused  acknowledged  having  learned  from  his  uncle 
that  he  was  to  receive  only  an  insignificant  fraction  of 
the  fortune  which  all  his  life  he  had  been  expecting." 

"That  is  my  recollection  of  it." 

"Was  there  any  further  conversation  on  the  subject?" 

"No,  sir;  it  came  up  incidentally." 

Shagarach  paused  a  moment  before  beginning  the 
cross-examination.  Harry  eyed  him  and  during  every 


THE  INCENDIARY.  377 

second  of  the  pause  the  witness'  color  mounted.  Some- 
thing in  the  lawyer's  appearance  still  confused  him. 

"This  was  a  visit  of  sympathy?"  asked  Shagarach. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Then  you  have  seen  the  accused  frequently  since  his 
imprisonment,  I  presume?" 

"Well,  no,  I  have  not." 

"When  did  you  see  him  last  previous  to  yesterday?'' 

"Well,  not  since  the  first  week." 

"Not  since  this  visit  of  sympathy,  do  you  mean?*' 

"That  was  the  last  time." 

"Then  all  your  sympathy  expended  itself  in  that  single 
visit?" 

"No,  not  exactly/' 

"Why  didn't  you  renew  it?" 

"Rob  and  I  didn't  part  good  friends." 

"Indeed?  And  what  was  the  cause  of  your  disagree- 
ment?" 

"Some  thoughtless  words  of  mine." 

"Then  you  were  at  fault?" 

"Wholly.    I  have  been  sorry  since." 

"But  you  have  kept  your  repentance  to  yourself  until 
now,  have  you  not?" 

"Well " 

"And  volunteered' to  testify  against  your  cousin?" 

"No,  sir;   I  was  subpoenaed." 

"From  what  quarter  do  you  suppose  these  rumors  of 
Floyd's  disinheritance  arose?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"Consider  that  answer  carefully." 

"I  have  done  so.  I  don't  know.  I  read  it  in  the 
papers." 

"You  knew  Floyd  was  disinherited  before  your  visit 

to  his  cell?" 
"No,  sir." 
"You  knew  you  yourself  were  disinherited  before  the 

fire?" 

"No,  sir." 

"You  knew  a  will  had  been  made?" 


378  THE  INCENDIARY. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"From  whom?" 
"From  my  mother." 

"Your  mother  and  yourself  share  most  items  of  family 
interest  between  you?'' 

"Naturally  we  do.  We  have  no  secrets  from  each 
other." 

"Wasn't  it  your  mother  who  first  informed  Mr.  Mc- 
Causland  that  Robert  had  been  disinherited?'' 

"I  don't  know." 

"Yet  you  read  the  papers,  you  said/' 

"I  must  have  skipped  that  item." 

"How  did  Mrs.  Arnold  know  this  fact?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"You  are  very  rich,  Mr.  Arnold?" 

"Yes,  we  are  considered  wealthy." 

"So  rich  that  I  presume  you  were  indifferent  whether 
Prof.  Arnold  added  to  your  fortunes  or  not  by  a  bequest 
of  his  property?" 

"He  may  have  thought  we  didn't  need  anything  more." 

"How  large  a  stud  of  horses  do  you  keep?" 

"In  all?    Only  six." 

"How  many  servants?" 

"Six." 

"For  a  family  of  two?" 

"My  mother  and  myself.  But  then,  we  entertain  a 
good  deal." 

"You  have  a  summer  residence  at  Hillsborough?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"And  a  house  at  Woodlawn?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"The  supplies  for  your  table  are  not  generally  pur- 
chased from  a  common  street  vender,  I  presume?" 

"I  don't  know.    I  don't  attend  to  the  commissariat." 

"Shouldn't  you  suppose  they  would  come  from  mar- 
ket?" 

"Game  and  such  things,  yes." 

"And  greens?" 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so." 


THE  INCENDIARY.  379 

"When  did  you  first  hear  of  the  burning  of  Prof.  Ar- 
nold's house?" 

"That's  hard  to  say  at  this  distance  of  time." 

"I  wish  you  would  try  to  recollect." 

"Why,  I  think  the  morning  afterward — Sunday  morn- 
ing. Yes,  it  was  in  the  Sunday  papers.  I  remember 
now." 

"You  remember  distinctly?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"What  paper?" 

"The  Beacon.    We  take  no  other." 

The  Beacon  was  the  paper  upon  which  Robert  was 
employed,  thus  forming  a  curious  bond  of  communica- 
tion between  the  two  Arnold  households. 

"You  were  not  in  town,  then,  that  afternoon?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Positive  of  that?" 

"Why,  yes;  I  was  ill — or,  rather,  just  convalescing 
from  a  fever.  Dr.  Whipple  called,  I  believe,  to  see  me 
that  very  Saturday." 

"In  the  forenoon  or  afternoon?" 

"Afternoon." 

"About  what  hour?" 

"About  3:45." 

"And  this  fire  started  at  3  =30?" 

"I  heard  a  witness  say  so  in  the  testimony  yesterday." 

"Of  your  own  knowledge  you  couldn't  say  when  it 
started?" 

"No,  sir/' 

Harry  was  red  as  fire  during  all  these  rapid  questions, 
some  apparently  aimless,  some  sharply  pointed. 

"A  man  could  not  start  that  fire  in  Cazenove  street  at 
3:30  and  reach  your  house  in  Woodlawn  at  3:45, 
could  he?" 

"Not  very  well." 

"He  might,  however,  start  the  fire  at  3:28  and  reach 
your  house  at  3:48?'' 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Harry.  "Twenty  minutes  isn't 
long." 


380  THE  INCENDIARY. 

"Isn't  there  a  train  which  leaves  the  Southern  depot 
at  3:29?" 

"I  never  use  the  Southern  depot." 

"Never?" 

"Well,  not  enough  to  know  the  trains.'' 

"I  have  not  said  that  you  did,  Mr.  Arnold.  It  hap- 
pens, however,  that  there  was  a  train — an  express  train — 
which  left  the  Southern  depot  at  3:29  on  June  28,  arriv- 
ing in  Woodlawn  at  3 145.  A  person  starting  from  Prof. 
Arnold's  house  at  3:28  could  have  caught  that  train, 
could  he  not?" 

"In  one  minute?    Yes,  by  hurrying.'' 

"And,  leaving  the  train  at  Woodlawn  at  3:45,  he  could 
have  arrived  in  your  house  at  3:48,  could  he  not?" 

"Yes,  sir,  by  walking  briskly." 

"Across  the  fields?" 

"Across  the  fields." 

"Wasn't  it  3 148  when  Dr.  Whipple  visited  you  on  that 
Saturday  of  the  fire?'' 

"Why,  of  course  I  could  not  swear  within  a  minute 
or  two." 

"But  a  minute  or  two  is  momentous  at  times — when 
a  train  is  to  be  taken,  for  example." 

"Oh,  yes." 

"What  were  you  doing  all  Saturday  afternoon  before 
the  doctor  arrived?" 

"Why" — Harry  hesitated — "I  was  ill  in  my  chamber." 

"Reading?" 

"Perhaps.    Killing  time  lazily." 

"You  have  frequently  to  do  that,  I  presume?" 

"Sir?" 

"You  have  no  orderly  programme  arranged  for  every 
day?" 

"Well,  it  varies." 

"But  never  includes  any  useful  occupation,  P  believe?" 

"Well,  I  can  afford  to  enjoy  life." 

"You  are  rich,  you  said.  How  fortunate  to  be  rich! 
The  great  problem  of  life  then  is  solved  for  you  by  the 
drawing  of  a  quarterly  check?" 


THE  INCENDIARY.  381 

"Well,  not  exactly." 

"If  you  require  money,  however,  you  simply  ask  for 
it  and  it  comes  forth  like  the  genii  of  the  lamp?" 
I  can  usually  meet  what  expenses  I  incur." 
'Do  you  remember  a  man  named  Reddy?" 

"Reddy?"  repeated  Harry,  coloring  a  shade  more  and 
glancing  over  at  Rosalie. 

"Reddy,"  repeated  Shagarach,  insistently. 

"What  is  his  business?" 

"He  is  dead,"  said  the  lawyer,  and  the  witness  knew 
that  evasion  was  futile. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  knew  that  Reddy — slightly." 

"Do  you  remember  forfeiting  several  thousand  dollars 
to  him  one  evening  in  a  certain  room?" 

"Yes." 

Harry  was  driven  to  the  wall.    He  set  his  teeth,  and 
now,  finally  at  bay,  his  spirit  seemed  to  return. 

"Where  did  that  money  come  from?" 

"From  my  mother." 

"And  from  whom  did  she  get  it?" 

Harry  hesitated. 

"From  one  Simon  Rabofsky,  a  money-lender,  was  it 
not?" 

"Yes." 

"She  had  sold  her  family  jewels,  had  she  not?" 

"Yes." 

"She  kept  you  in  funds?" 

"Yes,  but  she  knew  nothing  of  my  habits." 

"Then  you  lied  to  her  to  obtain  money?" 

"Yes." 

"And  you  lied  to  the  court  awhile  ago  when  you  said 
that  you  were  rich?" 

"No,  sir;  it  was  only  a  temporary  embarrassment." 

"Have  the  jewels  been  redeemed?" 

"I  believe  not." 

"Do  rich  people  generally  pawn  their  family  heirlooms 
and  permit  them  to  be  sold?" 

"Well,  no." 

"Then  you  were  so  circumstanced  that  your  disinherit- 


382  THE  INCENDIARY. 

ance  under  your  uncle's  will  might  seriously  incommode 
you?" 

"Well,  his  money  might  afford  us  relief." 


CHAPTER  LV. 

WEATHERVANES  VEER. 

"Do  you  know  Ellen  Greeley?" 

"I  did  know  her  slightly." 

"Never  corresponded  with  her?" 

"Oh,  no." 

"You  have  a  key  to  your  own  house,  I  suppose?'' 

"Certainly." 

"And  can  slip  out  and  in  unobserved?" 

"If  I  choose  to." 

"Which  door  do  you  generally  use  going  into  your 
uncle's  house?" 

"The  front  door  always." 

"And  in  coming  out?" 

"The  same." 

"You  knew,  however,  that  there  was  a  side  door  open- 
ing into  the  passageway?" 

"Yes." 

"How  long  are  you  back  from  Lenox?" 

"Two  weeks." 

"Do  you  remember  an  evening  entertainment  there  at 
Mr.  March's?" 

"The  purple  tea?    Yes,  sir." 

"Do  you  remember  falling  into  a  species  of  trance  on 
that  occasion?" 

"Perfectly." 

"Do  you  remember  what  was  on  your  right  hand  when 
you  awoke?" 

The  witness  drew  a  deep  breath  before  he  answered. 
He  no  longer  had  the  heart  to  look  toward  Rosalie, 


THE  INCENDIARY.  383 

though  her  eyes  were  turned  with  stony  fixity  upon  his 
face  and  she  had  even  lifted  her  veil. 

Shagarach's  manner  was  now  as  imperious,  as  fierce, 
as  on  that  memorable  evening. 

"Yes,"  answered  Harry;  "it  was  a  lemon-colored 
glove." 

"Whose  glove?" 

"Mine." 

"A  lost  glove?" 

"Yes." 

"A  right-hand  glove?" 

"Yes." 

"Where  had  you  lost  it?" 

Harry  hesitated. 

"Will  you  look  about  the  room  and  tell  me  if  you  see 
any  person  besides  your  mother  whom  you  saw  on  that 
Saturday  afternoon  of  the  fire?" 

Walter  Riley  had  recovered  by  this  time  from  Ken- 
nedy's caning  and  occupied  a  front  seat  among  the  spec- 
tators. But  it  was  Rosalie's  eye  that  Harry  met — met 
and  hastily  avoided.  Had  she  seen  him  after  all  that 
afternoon  when  he  crossed  Bond  street  from  the  burning 
house?  Would  this  remorseless  inquisitor  contradict 
his  denial  with  the  affirmation  of  the  woman  he  loved? 

"Wasn't  it  you  instead  of  Floyd  who  paid  a  cash  fare 
to  Conductor  Checkerberry  on  the  3:29  train  and  whose 
voice  he  recognized  here  yesterday?" 

"Yes,"  said  Harry,  "it  was." 

"Then  you  had  heard  of  the  fire  before  Sunday  morn- 
ing?" 

"I  had." 

"And  you  lied  again  when  you  testified  to  the  con- 
trary?" 

"I  am  sick  of  lying.    Let  me  tell  you  the  truth." 
"It  is  the  truth  I  am  searching  for.'' 
"You  have  tripped  and  tangled  me,"  said  Harry,  speak- 
ing slowly,  "so  that  my  actions  when  I  make  a  clean 
breast  of  them  may  look  worse  than  they  were.    I  wish  I 


384  THE  INCENDIARY. 

hadJfold  you  the  truth  from  the  beginning.  I  was  a  fool 
to  fiftle  it  at  all. 

"I  did  leave  Woodlawn  that  Saturday  for  my  uncle's 
house  on  the  3  o'clock  train  and  returned  on  the  3:29 
from  the  city.  I  had  been  wrought  up  by  Mr.  Hodgkins' 
visit  of  the  night  before.  He  was  going  to  open  the 
safe  at  2:30  the  next  day  and  the  will  would  be  read  at 
last.  If  I  were  disinherited  I  should  be  absolutely  penni- 
less, dependent  on  my  mother,  and  her  property,  I  knew, 
was  encumbered." 

"Your  mother,  then,  was  your  father's  sole  heir?" 
asked  the  district  attorney. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Encumbered  largely  through  your  extravagance?" 
added  Shagarach. 

"Through  my  extravagance.  I  was  on  pins  and 
needles,  too  nervous  to  sleep,  to  eat — the  servants  can 
corroborate  that — until  this  should  be  settled;  too  nerv- 
ous even  to  await  my  mother's  return.'' 

"She  had  driven  in  to  meet  Mr.  Hodgkins?" 

"She  had.  It  must  have  been  nearly  3:25  when  I 
arrived  and  the  appointment  of  Hodgkins  was  at  2 130." 

"You  took  the  Southern  line?" 

"Yes.'' 

"Why?" 

"Because  I  heard  the  train  coming.  I  acted  on  the 
impulse,  flung  out  of  the  house  and  headed  it  off." 

"Goon." 

"I  walked  toward  my  uncle's  up  Broad  street,  entered 
the  passageway,  mounted  the  steps  and  found  the  side 
door  open." 

"Open?" 

"I  mean  unlocked,  not  ajar.  There  was  no  one  stir- 
ring in  the  lower  floor.  I  wondered  whether  Hodgkins 
had  come  and  the  safe  was  opened.  Then  I  went  up- 
stairs to  the  study." 

"Your  glove  in  your  left  hand?" 

"As  I  remember  it,  yes.  I  forgot  to  mention  the  bark- 
ing of  the  dog  upstairs.  When  I  got  to  the  study  door 


THE  INCENDIARY.  385 

the  barking  was  louder  and  the  dog  seemed  to  be  paw- 
ing at  the  door  inside.  Smoke  was  streaming  out  through 
the  keyhole  and  I  could  hear  a  loud  crackling  inside. 
I  looked  at  my  watch" — here  Harry's  delivery  grew 
broken  and  he  stuttered  over  the  words — "I  looked  at 
my  watch  and  saw  that  I  had  time  to  catch  the  3:29. 
So  I  ran  out  the  way  I  had  come,  slammed  the  door, 
knocked  over  some  boys  that  were  blocking  up  the  alley- 
way, crossed  Broad  street  and  dove  into  the  little  passage 
called  Marketman's  row,  which  opens  at  the  other  end 
opposite  the  door  of  the  depot. 

"The  3:29  train  was  just  steaming  out  when  I  caught 
the  last  car.  At  Woodlawn  I  jumped  off  on  the  unused 
side  of  the  station  and  crossed  the  meadows  to  my  house. 
Dr.  Whipple  had  just  come  and  had  been  directed  to  my 
room.  I  doubt  if  even  the  servants  knew  of  my  departure 
and  arrival." 

There  was  a  pause  when  Harry  finished.  He  looked 
straight  at  Shagarach,  flush-cheeked  and  ashamed,  but 
with  all  the  Arnold  boldness. 

"You  have  left  out  the  vital  part  of  your  story,"  said 
the  lawyer,  when  it  appeared  that  the  witness  had  nothing 
more  to  add.  "Why  did  you  fly  from  a  stream  of  smoke 
issuing  through  a  keyhole?" 

"There  were  two  reasons,  shameful  both  of  them,  but 
I  ask  you  to  remember  that  I  had  recently  risen  from  a 
fever  and  that  I  was  greatly  excited  at  the  time.  In 
the  first  place,  the  image  of  the  safe  in  that  study  had 
haunted  me  for  days." 

"Although  you  have  testified  that  you  did  not  know 
you  were  disinherited.  Is  that  another  lie?" 

"No,  sir;  it  is  the  truth.  I  had  absolutely  no  knowl- 
edge of  the  terms  of  my  uncle's  will." 

"Then  why  were  you  apprehensive?  Why  did  the  im- 
age of  the  safe  in  which  it  was  guarded  haunt  you?" 

"Because — because  I  feared  what  actually  did  happen. 
I  feared  that  he  had  bequeathed  my  share  of  his  property 
elsewhere." 

"Go  on." 


386  THE  INCENDIARY. 

"I  knew  that  the  destruction  of  the  safe  would  set  me 
back  to  my  position  as  heir,  would  assure  me  $5,000,000. 
It  could  do  me  no  harm.  That  idea  flashed  through  me 
as  I  stood  on  the  landing,  with  my  hand  on  the  knob. 
And  then  my  own  position!  I  might  be  accused  of 
setting  the  fire  for  that  very  purpose.  This  was  the 
thought  that  led  me  to  flee.  I  remember  looking  at  my 
watch,  as  I  said.  The  3:29  train  would  place  me  in 
safety  almost  before  the  fire  was  under  way." 

"And  as  a  matter  of  fact,  you  were  back  in  Woodlawn 
almost  before  the  first  stream  of  water  was  played  upon 
the  burning  building?'' 

"I  reached  there  at  3 :45." 

"You  didn't  stop  to  liberate  the  dog?" 

"No,   sir." 

"You  didn't  think  it  your  duty  to  save  property  and 
life  by  checking  the  flames  or  at  least  giving  the  alarm?" 

"No,  sir." 

"You  simply  wanted  your  uncle's  money.'' 

"I  wanted  my  uncle's  money." 

The  gathering  indignation  of  the  audience  expressed 
itself  at  this  avowal  by  a  sharp,  spontaneous  hiss.  But 
the  prisoner  only  bit  his  lips.  The  officers  rapped  for 
order  and  Chief  Justice  Playfair  arose. 

"I  cannot  find  it  in  my  heart  to  rebuke  this  manifesta- 
tion, unseemly  though  it  be  in  a  temple  of  justice.  For  I 
knew  Benjamin  Arnold  for  many  years.  His  cheek  at 
the  age  of  nearly  fourscore  had  the  rosy  flush  of  a  boy's 
and  his  unimpaired  vigor  was  a  living  attestation  of  the 
pure  youth  and  honorable  manhood  through  which  he 
had  passed.  He  deserved  a  better  return  from  his  broth- 
er's son  than  the  avaricious  greed  for  his  riches  which 
the  witness  has  confessed." 

"Your  honor,"  said  Harry,  "I  have  not  made  myself 
understood.  It  is  not  for  me  to  parry  your  honor's  re- 
buke. I  have  richly  deserved  it.  I  have  been  selfish 
and  a  seeker  of  my  own  pleasure.  But  it  would  be  unjust 
to  my  better  self,  which  is  now  struggling  to  the  surface, 
if  I  did  not  disown  the  entertainment  of  such  feelings 


THE  INCENDIARY.  387 

now.  I  am  on  the  stand  under  oath  and  I  told  you  the 
simple  truth  about  my  motives  at  that  critical  moment." 

"I  find  it  hard,"  replied  the  chief  justice,  "to  understand 
such  a  frame  of  mind.  If  you  were  present  and  consented 
to  the  fire,  as  you  admit,  by  failing  to  check  the  flames 
or  give  the  alarm,  then  it  appears  to  me  that  you  are 
morally  if  not  legally  a  self-confessed  accessory  after  the 
fact." 

"The  explanation  can  only  deepen  my  blame,  your 
honor.  I  itched  for  money  at  that  time.  Yet  all  that 
I  received  flowed  from  me  faster  than  it  came.  I  had 
exhausted  my  mother's  income,  trenched  upon  her  credit, 
borrowed  of  my  friends,  and  still  I  craved  more.  I 
was  a  victim  of  the  passion  for  games  of  chance." 

"Then  you  were  capable  of  the  gravest  crimes,"  said 
Chief  Justice  Playfair. 

"The  fact  that  the  witness  took  the  3  o'clock  train 
when  the  will  was  supposed  to  have  been  read  at  2:30," 
said  the  district  attorney,  "seems  to  me  evidence  that  he 
had  not  contemplated  a  crime  in  coming." 

"I  do  not  charge  that  he  contemplated  a  crime  when 
he  started  from  the  house,"  answered  Shagarach,  prompt- 
ly, "but  I  do  charge  that,  finding  an  opportunity  to  hand, 
Harry  Arnold,  who  by  his  own  confession  was  present 
at  the  door  of  his  uncle's  study  at  the  time  this  fire 
started,  yielded  to  an  evil  impulse,  ignited  the  loose  pa- 
pers lying  about  and  fled." 

"Harry  Arnold  has,  indeed,  been  traced  to  the  study 
door,"  retorted  the  district  attorney,  "but  Robert  Floyd 
was  inside  the  room." 

"Then  we  must  bring  Harry  Arnold  across  the  thresh- 
old," said  Shagarach,  resuming  the  cross-examination. 

"Did  you  not  know  when  you  entered  the  house  that 
the  safe  was  unopened,  owing  to  Hodgkins'  detention?" 

"No,  sir;  I  knew  nothing  about  that.  When  I  went  I 
expected  to  meet  Hodgkins  there." 

"Then  what  good  would  it  do  you  to  see  your  uncle's 
study  burned  if  it  contained  only  an  empty  safe?" 


888  THE  INCENDIARY. 

"I  didn't  know  whether  the  will  was  in  the  safe  or 
not." 

"And  you  didn't  know  whether  the  will  disinherited 
you  or  not?" 

"No,  sir." 

"But,  acting  on  the  possibility  that  there  might  be  a 
will  there,  which  might  disinherit  you,  you  ran  away  and 
left  the  house  to  burn?" 

"It  was  Contemptible,  I  admit." 

"Hadn't  you  met  your  mother  that  afternoon?" 

"Not  after  she  left  Woodlawn." 

"What  time  was  that?" 

"Before  2  o'clock." 

"She  left  in  a  carriage?" 

"Yes,  sir;  one  of  the  family  carriages." 

"And  arrived  at  your  uncle's  toward  three?5' 

"She  has  told  me  so." 

"Leaving  there  a  little  after  three?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"She  might  have  driven  around,  then,  for  fifteen  min- 
utes and  returned  by  the  Southern  depot  just  in  time 
to  meet  you?" 

"She  might  have  done  so." 

"And  inform  you  of  Hodgkins'  detention?" 

"She  might  have  done  so,  but  whether  you  believe 
me  or  not,  I  never  saw  my  mother  until  she  came  home 
that  evening." 

"Or  any  messenger  from  her?" 

"Or  any  messenger." 

"Did  you  set  the  fire?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Did  Floyd  set  it?" 

"I  refuse  to  believe  that  he  did." 

"Then  who  did?  It  must  have  been  one  or  the  other 
of  you  two." 

"Or  both  of  them,"  whispered  Inspector  McCausland 
to  John  Davidson,  but  the  marshal  shook  his  head. 

"It  is  a  mystery  I  cannot  solve,"  said  Harry  Arnold. 


THE  INCENDIARY.  389 

"Let  us  help  you,  then.  You  testified  before  that  you 
never  corresponded  with  Ellen  Greeley?" 

"Why  should  I  correspond  with  the  girl?" 

"In  order  that  she  might  sell  you  what  information  she 
could  overhear  about  your  uncle's  will." 

Shagarach  brought  his  face  closer  to  Harry's  and  his 
eyes  seemed  to  blaze  like  searchlights,  illuminating  the 
depths  of  the  young  man's  soul. 

"Will  you  kindly  read  that  aloud?"  The  lawyer  handed 
his  witness  a  letter.  Harry  glanced  it  over  curiously,  then 
read: 

"  'The  peddler  has  not  come  for  two  days,  so  I  send  you  this 
by  a  trustworthy  messenger.  As  I  wrote  you  in  my  last,  the 
professor  said  in  the  study:  "Harry  gets  his  deserts."  That 
was  all  I  could  hear.  Only  he  and  Mr.  Robert  talked  for  a  long 
time  afterward.  The  will  is  in  the  safe  in  the  study.  If  I  hear 
anything  more  I  will  let  you  know,  and  please  send  me  the 
money  you  promised  me  soon.'  " 

"Whose  handwriting  is  that?"  asked  Shagarach. 

"I  never  saw  it  before." 

"It  is  unsigned,  unaddressed  and  undated,  is  it  not?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Presumably,  then,  a  letter  in  which  both  sender  and 
receiver  desired  to  conceal  their  names?" 

"Perhaps  so.    I  cannot  offer  an  opinion  as  to  that." 

"Don't  you  know  that  letter  was  written  by  Ellen 
Greeley  to  you?" 

"No,  sir;  I  never  received  such  a  letter." 

"I  am  aware  that  you  never  received  it.  But  you  re- 
ceived the  previous  letters  referred  to  in  this  case,  did 
you  not?  You  received  the  letter  stating  that  'Harry  gets 
his  deserts,'  meaning  obviously  that  he  gets  nothing,  did 

you  not?" 

"No,  sir;  I  have  never  received  a  shred  of  communi- 
cation from  Ellen  Greeley." 

"Do  you  know  the  peddler  referred  to  in  this  letter  i 

"No,  sir." 

At  this  point  Mrs.  Arnold,  who  had  sat  through  each 
of  the  three  previous  days'  sessions,  arose  hurriedly  and 


390  THE  INCENDIARY. 

passed  out.  Shagarach  just  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  lady's 
back  departing,  but  the  vacant  seat  told  its  story.  He 
paused  in  his  examination  of  Harry.  It  was  Mrs.  Arnold 
who  had  put  McCausland  on  Floyd's  track,  Mrs.  Arnold 
who  had  stolen  Harry's  photographs  from  Jacob,  Mrs. 
Arnold  who  had  driven  up  to  the  house  in  a  carriage, 
Mrs.  Arnold  who  would  naturally  deal,  through  her  ser- 
vants, with  a  street  vender  calling  at  the  house. 

"A  subpoena  blank!"  he  cried  suddenly  to  Aronson. 
His  pen  flew  over  the  paper,  filling  in  names  and  other 
details. 

"Serve  that  at  any  cost,"  he  said  to  his  assistant,  and 
Aronson  smooched  the  ink,  so  eager  was  he  to  obey. 

"You  do  not  know  the  peddler?''  said  Shagarach,  tak- 
ing up  the  cross-examination. 

"No,  sir." 

"You  never  saw  a  peddler  in  a  green  cart  that  used  to 
call  at  your  house  in  Woodlawn  during  the  month  of 
June?" 

"Not  to  my  knowledge.  Of  course,  there  are  peddlers 
everywhere  and  some  of  them  have  green  carts." 

"Wouldn't  you  regard  it  as  a  peculiar  circumstance  if 
a  particular  peddler  began  calling  at  your  house  and  your 
uncle's  house  about  the  time  your  uncle  made  his  will 
and  stopped  his  visits  after  the  fire?" 

"I  don't  know  that  I  should  attach  importance  to  that 
circumstance.  It  might  be  accidental." 

"But  he  might  also  be  a  go-between." 

"Between  whom?" 

"Between  you  and  Ellen  Greeley." 

"I  never  conducted  any  intrigue  of  any  kind  with  Ellen 
Greeley." 

"Did  you  know  the  man  who  was  captured  here  yes- 
terday?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Wasn't  he  the  peddler  referred  to  in  Ellen  Greeley's 
letter?" 

"The  letter  you  handed  me?    I  do  not  know." 

"Is  this  one  of  your  lies  or  the  truth?" 


THE  INCENDIARY.  391 

"This  is  the  truth." 

"How  are  we  to  distinguish  between  your  lying  and 
truth-telling?" 

Harry  was  silent. 

"The  only  means  of  distinction  thus  far  has  been  our 
own  superior  proof  of  the  facts.'' 

"I  can  only  give  you  my  word.  If  you  choose  to  doubt 
it  I  am  helpless." 

"Will  you  please  explain  how  your  mother,  who  has 
left  the  court-room,  I  perceive,  was  able  to  inform  Mr. 
McCausland  that  Robert  Floyd  was  disinherited  by  his 
uncle  and  thus  guide  the  finger  of  suspicion  toward  an 
innocent  man  from  you,  the  incendiary?" 

"I  had  no  hand  or  finger  in  setting  that  fire.  Cir- 
cumstances tell  against  me.  I  have  debased  my  own 
word,  ruined  my  credibility,  by  a  series  of  perjuries,  all 
flowing  from  one  initial  folly.  I  can  now  understand  my 
cousin's  position — the  shame  of  being  misunderstood,  un- 
justly suspected,  though  I  am  not  fortified,  as  I  feel  that 
he  is,  by  a  consciousness  of  stainless  honor  throughout 
the  affair.  If  he  is  guilty,  then  I  am,  and  I  ask — or, 
rather,  I  insist — that  you  shall  place  me  under  the  same 
restriction  of  liberty  as  my  cousin.  Let  me  sleep  under 
the  same  roof,  endure  the  same  privations,  until  he  is 
acquitted  and  set  free.  For  if  to  have  had  wrong-doing, 
ever  so  remotely,  in  one's  heart  is  guilt,  then  I  am  the 
guiltier  of  us  two." 

"The  sheriff,  I  think,  will  provide  you  a  lodging,"  said 
Shagarach,  coolly,  and  after  a  conference  between  the 
chief  justice,  the  district  attorney  and  the  lawyer  it  was 
announced  that  a  warrant  for  Harry  Arnold's  arrest 
would  be  granted  and  that  he  would  spend  the  night  in  a 
cell. 

"There  are  still  several  points  against  the  prisoner  not 
met,"  said  the  district  attorney,  when  Shagarach  moved 
for  Robert's  discharge. 

"It  is  a  new  doctrine  that  a  man  should  be  held  be- 
cause there  is  reasonable  doubt  of  his  innocence,"  said 
the  lawyer.  But  the  district  attorney  was  rigid  and  the 


392  THE   INCENDIARY. 

chief  justice  thought  it  best,  since  there  was  only  one 
more  witness  for  the  prosecution,  to  let  the  jury  decide 
upon  the  facts,  which  were  properly  their  province. 

"Forgive  me,  Rosalie/'  said  Harry,  humbly,  as  he 
passed  her,  going  out,  and  her  eyes,  though  they  were 
full  of  mortification,  disillusion,  rebuke,  told  that  she  for- 
gave him  because  she  loved  him. 

"Arnold  or  Floyd?''  was  the  alternative  on  the  lips  of 
the  multitude  surging  homeward  after  that  dramatic  day, 
and  Robert  for  the  first  time  was  actually  cheered  when 
he  left  the  courthouse. 

"Looks  as  though  we  might  have  two  hangings  instead 
of  one/'  remarked  Inspector  McCausland  to  a  reporter. 

"Did  you  notice  the  expression  on  that  woman  who 
went  out?"  said  Ecks  to  Wye. 

"No." 

"Guilt,"  said  Ecks,  shuffling  his  notes  into  his  pocket. 
Then  Emily  saw  Rosalie  March's  beautiful  face  soiled 
with  tears  and  hastened  down  to  comfort  her. 

"I  am  sorry,"  she  said.  "Don't  fear  for  Harry.  No- 
body in  the  world  set  that  fire.  It  just  caught " 

But  why  importune  readers  with  Emily's  theory,  when 
they  have  doubtless  already  guessed  it  in  detail? 


CHAPTER  LVI. 

MARK  TIME,  MARCH! 

Now  that  Robert's  acquittal  was  almost  assured, 
Emily's  pity  began  to  overflow  toward  Harry  Arnold  and 
Rosalie,  whose  position  was  exactly  her  own  of  the  day 
before.  For  the  vox  populi  had  generally  determined  on 
Harry's  guilt,  though  there  were  not  wanting  some  who, 
like  the  father  in  the  parable,  were  disposed  to  welcome 
the  brilliant  prodigal  with  lavish  entertainment,  freely  ex- 
tending the  forgiveness  he  implored,  while  slighting  the 
steadfastly  loyal  son  who  had  never  wandered  from  the 


THE  INCENDIARY.  393 

path  of  virtue.  This  was  poor  recompense  to  Robert 
for  his  summer-long  immurement,  but  he  was  put  to- 
gether of  a  substance  impervious  to  the  acid  actions  of 
criticism  or  neglect — the  oaken  fiber  of  the  English 
Arnolds. 

In  all  quarters  curiosity  was  active  about  the  defense. 
It  was  said  by  some  that  the  prosecution  had  broken 
down,  or  might  break  down  at  any  minute,  and  even  if 
the  last  reluctant  victim  were  haled  up  by  Bigelow  to  the 
shambles,  where  Shagarach  stood,  ax  in  hand,  awaiting 
her,  that  it  would  be  hammering  on  a  driven  nail  to  put 
on  the  long  array  of  witnesses  who  had  been  summoned 
in  behalf  of  the  accused.  Nevertheless  the  newspapers 
were  at  pains  to  worm  out  the  names  of  these  witnesses 
and  to  diet  the  public  with  prophetic  outlines  of  their 
testimony. 

The  gist  of  it  all  was  that  Shagarach  meant  to  clinch 
his  client's  defense  by  building  up  a  case  against  Harry. 

Of  course  Emily  found  it  hard  to  communicate  her 
own  confidence  to  Rosalie  March,  although  Bertha  was 
to  take  the  stand  the  following  morning  and  her  theory 
would  then  (as  she  believed)  receive  a  triumphant  dem- 
onstration. What  made  Harry's  face  fall  more  bitter  was 
that  the  date  of  his  espousal  to  the  beautiful  actress  had 
just  been  given  to  the  world.  From  Rosalie's  hard 
glance  at  Shagarach,  Emily  knew  there  was  as  much 
blame  in  her  heart  for  the  lawyer  as  for  her  lover.  And 
Rosalie  was  not  the  only  girl  who  would  have  ransomed 
Harry  Arnold,  perjurer,  self-seeker,  gambler,  as  he 
owned  himself  to  have  been,  with  her  life,  if  such  a  price 
should  be  asked. 

"Are  they  sisters?"  asked  the  thoughtless,  misled  by 
their  golden  hair,  when  the  two  beautiful  girls  went  out 
together,  leaving  Mme.  Violet  behind.  But  a  student  of 
faces  would  never  have  fallen  into  such  an  error.  One 
placid  and  aloof,  even  toward  the  audiences  whose  favor 
she  courted,  the  other  impulsive  and  approachable,  throw- 
ing out  tentacles  of  sympathy  toward  every  human  being 
with  whom  she  came  in  contact,  they  supplemented 


S94  THE  INCENDIARY. 

rather  than  reflected  each  other;  otherwise  they  would 
hardly  have  been  drawn  together  so  strongly,  and  made 
such  a  concord  of  friendliness. 

Several  surprises  awaited  Emily  when  she  reached 
home.  The  first  and  pleasantest  was  an  envelope,  sur- 
charged in  the  upper  left-hand  corner  with  the  name  of 
a  certain  magazine.  This  she  opened  with  trembling  fin- 
gers, for  it  was  not  quite  three  weeks  since  she  mailed  to 
the  editor,  unsigned,  Robert's  article  on,  "Proposals  for 
a  Consumers'  Trust,"  that  fruit  of  his  prison  reflections 
which  Dr.  Silsby  had  found  so  unpalatable.  When  an 
oblong  slip  of  paper,  perforated  at  the  margin,  slipped 
out,  she  knew  it  was  a  check ;  and  the  editor's  letter  was 
very  urgent  that  "so  striking  a  contribution  should  not 
be  given  to  the  world  without  its  author's  signature." 
Here  was  the  beginning  of  a  career  for  her  sweetheart. 
She  looked  forward  to  the  time  when  his  qualities  and 
talents  should  be  recognized,  and  she  herself  perhaps  be 
pointed  out  as  the  wife  of  Floyd,  the  famous  writer,  or 
thinker,  or  worker,  or  whatsoever  other  name  they  chose 
to  give  to  the  best,  the  truest  and  the  most  abused  of 
men.  The  check,  too,  was  of  comforting  value,  and,  since 
she  was  a  shrewd  little  housekeeper  withal,  this  discovery 
did  not  abate  one  particle  of  Emily's  joy. 

And  yet,  so  little  was  she  a  lover  of  lucre  for  its  own 
sake,  the  very  first  item  on  which  her  eye  lighted  in  the 
evening  paper,  though  it  meant  a  money  loss  which  the 
whole  cash  box  of  the  Forum,  converted  into  checks, 
could  not  make  good,  evoked  almost  a  scream  of  delight 
from  Emily  and  sent  her  flying  into  the  kitchen  where  her 
mother  was  steeping  the  tea.  The  good  lady  wiped  her 
honest  hands  on  her  apron  and  with  a  "Do  tell!"  fingered 
the  Evening  Beacon,  which  to-day  is  skimmed  and  to- 
morrow cast  into  the  oven,  as  respectfully  as  if  it  had  been 
a  fancy  valentine;  then  read,  with  Jennie,  a  slip  of  14, 
on  tiptoe  leaning  ever  her  shoulder,  that  Judge  Dunder 
had  finally  decided  to  uphold  the  late  Prof.  Arnold's  will. 
Even  Shagarach  had  hardly  expected  this  decision.  For 
Judge  Dunder  was  a  confirmed  devotee  of  legal  technique 


THE  INCENDIARY.  395 

and  it  had  been  supposed  that  nothing  less  than  a  ver- 
batim copy  of  a  destroyed  will  would  be  sustained  by 
him. 

But  the  main  clauses  of  the  will  had  certainly  been  re- 
produced, with  an  abundance  of  circumstantial  detail. 
The  only  hiatus  was  a  remote  possibility.  There  may 
have  been  some  smaller  bequests  that  could  not  be  traced. 
Apparently  Judge  Dunder  had  in  this  case  resolved  to 
wink  a  little  at  chicane  and  decide  for  justice  in  the  broad- 
er sense. 

"Harry  Arnold  may  have  to  do  something  to  justify 
his  existence  now,"  said  Mrs.  Barlow  after  supper  to 
Emily.  She  had  a  prejudice  against  wild  young  men. 

"Oh,  Rosalie  has  enough  for  two,"  answered  Emily, 
who  was  standing  before  the  mirror  putting  her  hat  on  for 
a  visit  to  Walter  Riley. 

The  first  sight  that  met  her  eye  when  she  reached  the 
sidewalk  was  a  squad  of  salvation  army  soldiers,  with 
Serena  Lamb  at  their  head,  parading  through  the  street, 
chanting  their  invitation  to  sinners.  Serena  held  her  tam- 
bourine high  in  air  and  her  shrill  voice  dominated  the 
chorus  like  that  of  a  precentor  in  the  kirk.  But  the  exer- 
cise seemed  to  lack  its  usual  spirit  this  evening.  Was  it 
because  nobody  took  any  particular  notice  of  the  group? 
Curiosity  about  them  was  wearying  itself  threadbare,  and 
even  the  toddling  urchins  no  longer  gathered  at  the 
drumbeat  as  they  used  to.  Emily  had  often  admired  the 
devotion  of  these  sisters,  but,  looking  at  this  unnoticed 
and  discouraged  band,  she  wondered  if  the  antagonism  of 
the  multitude  were  not  in  truth  the  very  sustenance  of 
their  zeal.  Might  not  all  their  heroic  energy  exhaust 
itself,  like  the  nerve  of  a  boxer,  compelled  to  waste  his 
blows  in  the  air,  if  the  atmosphere  of  opposition  should 
change  to  one  of  apathy? 


THE  INCENDIARY. 


CHAPTER  LVII. 

A  STERN  CHASE. 

"At  any  cost!''  The  last  words  of  his  master  tingled  in 
Saul  Aronson's  ears  when  he  left  the  court-room  with 
the  summons  in  his  hand.  Ever  since  the  disclosures  of 
Serena  Lamb  he  had  been  more  than  usually  abashed  in 
his  demeanor.  For  in  some  measure  he  felt  that  it  was 
he  who  had  brought  this  threatened  catastrophe  upon 
their  cause.  Here  was  the  opportunity  to  retrieve  his 
misstep.  He  would  prove  his  fidelity  and  serve  the  writ 
"at  any  cost." 

Mrs.  Arnold  had  secured  a  few  minutes'  start,  but 
Aronson  did  not  doubt  his  ability  to  overtake  her.  She 
would  probably  call  a  cab,  since  she  was  an  all-day  at- 
tendant at  the  sittings  and  it  was  unlikely  her  family  car- 
riage would  be  waiting  for  her.  Impatiently  he  rang  the 
elevator  up,  and  then,  deciding  just  as  it  arrived  that  it 
was  quicker  to  walk  down,  balked  the  boy  by  tacking  off 
toward  the  staircase  and  descending  it  two  steps  at  a 
time.  When  he  reached  the  exit,  the  square  was  deserted. 
But  just  around  the  corner,  like  the  whisk  of  a  vanishing 
tail,  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  rapidly  driven  cab.  After 
this  he  sped,  down  the  crowded  main  thoroughfare,  dodg- 
ing the  pedestrians  as  well  as  he  could,  with  his  eyes  on 
the  distant  vehicle,  and  yawing  wildly  at  last  into  the  arms 
of  a  man  who  stood  waiting  on  the  curbstone. 

"Where  in  the "  but  the  man  was  a  herdic  driver 

and  his  language  may  as  well  be  left  to  the  imagination. 
Aronson  saw  the  badge  on  his  hat;  that  was  enough. 

"Catch  that  carriage,"  he  said,  "and  I'll  give  you  $2." 

"Jump  in,"  cried  the  driver.  The  door  was  locked  in  a 
jiffy  and  presently  they  were  bumping  over  the  cobble- 
stones. 


THE  INCENDIARY.  397 

"Stop  there!"  shouted  the  burly  policeman  who  used 
to  escort  Emily  so  gallantly  over  the  street  crossing. 

"It's  a  runaway!"  cried  the  herdic  driver,  giving  him- 
self the  lie  by  a  savage  snap  of  his  whip.  The  officer  was 
in  no  trim  for  a  spurt,  so  he  fell  behind  puffing.  Still 
they  bumped  on,  till  Aronson's  anxiety  mastered  him  and 
he  rapped  at  the  window  for  attention.  The  driver  stupid- 
ly reined  up. 

"Go  on!"  cried  the  passenger,  and  the  whip-lash  circled 
once  more  with  a  crack.  They  were  out  on  the  long 
bridge  to  Oxford  now,  and  the  fugitive  could  not  be  far 
ahead. 

"Hello!"  shouted  the  driver.  The  jehu  in  front  turned 
his  head. 

"Haul  up!"  he  hailed. 

The  driver  in  front  obeyed  and  the  two  herdics  were 
soon  abreast,  Aronson  getting  a  dusty  toss  in  his  im- 
patience to  get  out.  As  he  picked  himself  up,  a  great  fat 
man  put  his  head  out  of  the  other  herdic  window  and 
began  to  ask  the  cause  of  the  detention. 

"Is  Mrs.  Arnold  in  there?"  inquired  Aronson,  putting 
his  head  into  the  herdic,  just  by  the  fat  passenger's. 

"Mrs.  Arnold?  What  Mrs.  Arnold?  Take  your  head 

out,  you  impudent, — drive  away,  you "  cried  the  fat 

passenger,  settling  back  on  the  cushions  which  he  al- 
most filled  with  the  breadth  of  his  back.  Aronson  was 
left  standing  alone  on  the  road,  puzzling  his  wits  what  to 
do. 

"You  lost  the  right  carriage,"  he  said. 

"I  followed  the  one  you  pointed  out,"  answered  the 
driver,  surlily. 

"Well,  take  me  back." 

"Where's  my  $2?"  asked  No.  99,  and  Aronson  had  to 
pay  him  this  sum,  as  well  as  an  advance  fare  for  the  ride 
back,  before  he  would  turn  his  horse's  head.  Going  in 
town,  the  animal  made  up  for  time  gained  by  a  heart- 
breaking leisureliness  of  pace.  No  one  could  blame  the 
poor  hack  horse.  There  had  been  some  attempt  to  make 
him  look  respectable  by  docking  his  tail,  but  it  was  no 


398  THE  INCENDIARY. 

more  successful  than  a  silk  hat  on  a  prize-fighter,  de- 
signed to  foster  the  same  illusion. 

It  was  just  5:40  when  Aronson  reached  the  Northern 
depot  and  the  train  for  Hillsborough  had  left  at  5 :38.  He 
had  the  misery  of  knowing  that  Mrs.  Arnold  was  proba- 
bly well  on  her  way  to  her  summer  residence  by  this  time, 
and  that  there  was  no  train  earlier  than  7  o'clock.  In  the 
interim  he  bought  a  ticket,  supped,  reflected,  counted  his 
money  and  studied  the  subpoena. 

A  village  bell  was  tolling  8  when  Aronson  stepped  from 
the  passenger  car  out  on  the  platform  of  the  Hillsborough 
station.  They  had  left  the  sunset  behind  them  in  their 
eastward  ride  and  the  country  village  was  dark. 

"I  want  a  carriage  to  Mrs.  Arnold's  house,''  he  said  to 
the  station-master. 

"Hacks  are  all  in  now,"  answered  the  official  behind 
the  grating,  turning  to  his  books.  But  he  underrated  the 
persistency  of  his  customer. 

"I'll  give  you  $1.50  for  a  team,"  said  Aronson.  The 
suggestion  worked  magically  and  in  less  than  an  hour  he 
was  let  down  before  the  veranda  of  the  Arnold  mansion. 
A  ruby  porch-light  flooded  him  with  a  kind  of  delighted 
confusion.  How  mild  and  solemn  the  country  is  at  night! 
How  suggestive  of  grassy  comforts  the  humming  of  the 
crickets !  All  the  shepherd  that  lay  deep  down  in  Aron- 
son's  nature,  as  in  that  of  every  one  of  us,  even  the 
plainest,  had  time  to  show  itself  in  the  interval  between 
his  ring  and  the  servant's  answer. 

"Mrs.  Arnold  is  in  Woodlawn,"  answered  the  house- 
maid. "Can  you  leave  your  business?" 

"No,  I  want  to  see  her  personally." 

Woodlawn!  She  had  escaped  him  then.  The  teamster 
was  waiting  and  the  servant  diminishing  the  aperture  of 
the  door  to  a  suspicious  crack,  while  he  collected  his 
thoughts. 

"How  long  has  she  been  in  Woodlawn?"  he  asked. 

"She  just  moved  in  yesterday  morning/'  replied  the 
servant,  closing  the  door  with  a  slam. 


THE  INCENDIARY.  399 

"Take  me  back  in  time  for  the  next  train,"  said  Aron- 
son  to  the  driver. 

"Too  late  for  the  next  train,"  came  the  drawling  an- 
swer. "Next  train  is  at  9:15  and  it's  most  9  now." 

"When  is  the  last  train?"  asked  Aronson,  figuring  on  a 
midnight  visit  to  Woodlawn. 

"That's  the  last  train  to-night/' 

Here  was  a  wild-goose  chase  indeed,  but  Aronson  had 
a  keen  suspicion  that  it  was  the  goose  who  was  the 
chaser. 

"What  is  the  first  train  in  the  morning?" 

"At  6:15  a.  m.,"  answered  the  rustic,  who  usually 
knows  his  local  time-table  better  than  his  prayers. 

"Can  I  lodge  here  for  the  night?" 

"Dunno.  Sam  Cook  might  put  you  up.  He  used  to 
keep  an  inn.  Maybe  he  can  find  a  spare  bed  for  you 
under  the  roof  somewheres." 

"Drive  me  to  Sam  Cook's,"  said  Aronson.  All  the 
nocturnal  interest  of  the  countryside  had  vanished  from 
him  now,  and  it  was  with  no  kindly  feeling  toward  Hills- 
borough  that  he  stretched  his  limbs  in  the  old  boniface's 
spare  bed,  laying  the  subpoena  under  his  pillow  and  mut- 
tering a  petition  to  Jehovah  that  he  might  not  oversleep 
himself  and  lose  the  6:15  a.  m.  But  the  real  danger 
proved  to  be  that  he  would  get  no  sleep  at  all.  For  at 
midnight  he  was  still  tossing. 

A  cow-bell,  furiously  jingled,  awoke  him  at  sunrise,  and 
he  was  in  the  city  at  7:15,  on  schedule  time. 

"To  Woodlawn,"  a  sign  on  one  of  the  tracks  read.  But 
the  hands  of  the  mock  clock  pointed  to  7:45  and  there 
was  another  half-hour  of  waiting.  All  the  world  was  out 
of  bed,  for  the  steeple  bell  had  just  tolled  8  when  he  ar- 
rived in  Woodlawn  and  inquired  his  way  to  the  Arnolds'. 

"Just  moved  back!''  thought  Aronson.  "I  should  say 
so." 

Mats  were  hanging  out  of  windows,  servants  were 
mopping  panes,  a  hostler  was  hosing  a  muddy  carriage 
in  the  stable ;  everything  showed  that  a  general  scrubbing 
process  had  begun.  To  his  surprise  and  pleasure,  he 


400  THE  INCENDIARY. 

recognized  the  housemaid  who  answered  his  ring  as 
Bertha  Lund.  She  was  dressed  in  her  smartest  pink,  for 
this  was  the  day  of  her  testimony. 

"I  want  to  see  Mrs.  Arnold,"  said  Aronson,  blurting 
out  his  message  like  a  schoolboy. 

"Mrs.  Arnold?  Well,  you've  come  too  late,"  answered 
Bertha. 

"Isn't  she  here?* 

"Here!    She's  on  her  way  to  Europe  by  this  time." 

"To  Europe!" 

Saul  Aronson's  jaw  dropped  and  the  subpoena  began 
to  burn  a  hole  in  his  pocket.  Was  this  a  subterfuge?  He 
would  be  on  the  alert. 

"When  did  she  start?" 

"Why,  this  morning.  You  must  have  passed  her  com- 
ing out." 

Passed  her  coming  out!  It  was  like  chasing  his  own 
shadow,  this  constant  missing  of  the  game  he  hunted. 

"But  wha — wha — what  made  her  go  to  Europe?"  stam- 
mered Aronson.  He  remembered  hearing  Shagarach  say 
one  day  that  flight  was  confession.  Was  Mrs.  Arnold 
involved  in  her  son's  guilt?  Then  all  the  more  reason  for 
waylaying  her  before  she  gave  them  the  slip. 

"Can't  a  lady  go  abroad  if  she  chooses?  Mrs.  Arnold 
goes  abroad  every  summer." 

"But  Harry " 

"Yes,  we're  cleaning  things  up  for  Harry.  They'll  live 
here  after  they're  married,  you  know,  Harry  and  Miss 
M'arch." 

"But  he  was  arrested!" 

"Arrested!" 

Bertha  had  left  the  court  early  on  the  previous  day 
and  did  not  read  the  papers. 

"Didn't  his  mother  know  Harry  was  arrested?" 

"Arrested!    Harry?    What  for?" 

"For  setting  his  uncle's  house  on  fire,"  answered  Aron- 
son, who  as  a  loyal  partisan  was  one  shade  more  thorough 
in  his  conviction  of  Harry's  guilt  than  Shagarach  him- 
self. 


THE  INCENDIARY.  401 

"Setting  his  uncle's  house  on  fire!    Nonsense'!" 

"What  boat  did  she  take?"  asked  Aronson,  breaking  in 
upon  Bertha's  astonishment  with  a  gesture  of  impatience. 

"The  Venetia,  of  the  Red  Star  line." 

"And  it  starts  so  early  in  the  morning?" 

"Yes;  somewhere  between  8  and  9." 

Aronson  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  just  8:15.  If  he 
could  catch  a  train  back,  he  might  be  in  town  at  a  little 
after  half-past.  And  then — a  delay!  These  great  steam- 
ers are  often  delayed! 

"Toot!  Toot!  Toot!"  came  the  warning  whistle  of  an 
engine,  and  Aronson  was  dashing  down  the  path,  never 
stopping  to  pick  up  his  hat  that  was  lifted  off  by  the  wind, 
bent  only  on  beating  his  steam-propelled  rival  to  the  sta- 
tion. It  took  him  the  whok  journey  town  ward  to  re- 
cover the  wind  he  had  lost  in  that  unwonted  quarter-mile 
run.  People  laughed  at  his  hatless  head,  but  he  did  not 
heed  them.  Besides,  if  he  had  been  a  philosopher,  he 
might  have  retorted  that  hats  on  a  dog-day  are  simply 
one  of  the  nuisances  of  civilized  conventionality.  So  he 
took  a  wharf  car  and  in  less  than  half  an  hour  was  running 
out  to  the  edge  of  the  great  Red  Star  quay,  there  to  be- 
hold the  Venetia  proudly  backing  into  the  channel  on  the 
flood  of  the  tide  and  turning  her  head  oceanward.  I  re- 
gret to  say  this  spectacle  filled  Aronson  with  violent 
wrath,  and  the  wharf  loungers  must  have  taken  him  for 
a  wild  man  as  he  smote  his  fists  together  and  danced 
about. 

"Missed  your  boat?"  inquired  casually  a  sea-beaten 
man,  but  Aronson  was  too  irate  to  appreciate  his  well- 
meant  sympathy.  He  only  ran  to  the  edge  of  the  wharf 
and  looked  off,  shading  his  eyes  from  the  glare  of  the 
water. 

Presently  he  found  the  man  at  his  elbow  again. 

"I  can  catch  her  for  you  if  it's  anything  important," 
said  the  tar. 

"I'll  give  you — I'll  give  you — "  and  then  he  checked 
himself,  appalled  at  his  own  rashness.  "How  much  will 
you  charge?"  he  asked. 


402  THE  INCENDIARY. 

"Well,  the  Venetia's  steaming  for  a  record  this  trip. 

"How  much?" 

"She's  got  a  start  of  a  mile,  and  going  twenty  knots." 

"How  much?" 

"There  were  some  picnic  folks  I  expected  down  here 
to  charter  my  tug.  Don't  see  them,  but  they  may  drop 
in.  I  suppose  you'll  allow  something  for  the  disappoint- 
ment if  they  come.'' 

"How  much?"  persisted  Aronson,  but  the  Venetia  had 
just  disappeared  behind  an  island  and  the  thought  of  re- 
turning empty-handed  to  Shagarach  acted  like  a  rowel 
in  his  flank.  "I'll  give  you  $50,"  he  cried,  suddenly. 

"Done,"  said  the  Yankee,  wringing  his  hand,  and  then 
Aronson  knew  that  he  ought  to  have  offered  $25.  But  it 
was  no  time  for  haggling.  "At  any  cost,"  he  repeated  to 
himself.  The  mariner  hurried  him  in  and  out  among  the 
wharves,  till  they  came  upon  a  battered  but  resolute- 
looking  tugboat,  on  which  two  or  three  deck-hands  were 
lounging. 

"Get  steam  up,  Si,"  cried  the  skipper,  and  after  a  delay 
which  seemed  an  hour  to  Aronson  the  water  began  to  be 
churned  to  foam  before  her  bow  and  the  little  craft  had 
started  on  its  long  chase. 

Past  the  islands  of  the  harbor,  past  the  slow  merchant 
schooners,  past  the  white-sailed  careening  pleasure 
sloops,  past  the  harbor  police  boat,  past  the  revenue  cut- 
ter, past  the  excursion  steamers  to  local  beaches,  past 
the  crowded  Yarmouth,  they  flew,  cheered  on  by  the  pas- 
sengers— for  everybody  soon  saw  it  was  a  race. 

Aronson  was  studying  the  wide  beam  of  the  Venetia  in 
front.  How  slowly  they  were  gaining!  They  were  out 
beyond  the  farthest  island  in  the  harbor,  the  lighthouse 
shoal  that  is  covered  at  high  tide,  and  still  the  Red  Star 
liner  bore  away  from  them  with  half  a  mile  of  clear  water 
between. 

"Cheer  up,  shipmate/'  cried  Perkins;  "she's  gettin' 
bigger  and  bigger.  Heap  the  coals  on  down  there,  Si." 

The  Venetia  must  have  sighted  her  pursuer  long  ago, 
and  indeed  the  faces  of  her  passengers  on  the  bow  were 


THE  INCENDIARY.  403 

becoming  more  and  more  visible  every  moment.  But 
this  was  a  record  trip,  and  it  would  be  beneath  her  dignity 
to  slow  up  for  every  petty  rowboat  that  hailed  her.  So 
her  engines  continued  to  pump  and  she  clove  the  glorious 
waters  swiftly. 

"Ahoy!"  shouted  Capt.  Perkins. 

"Ahoy  yourself!"  came  the  answer.  Aronson  thought 
he  saw  a  woman's  face  that  he  knew  on  the  deck. 

"Heave  to!    A  boarder!" 

"Tell  him  to  get  out  of  bed  in  time,"  came  the  un- 
gracious reply.  Evidently  the  Venetia's  third  mate  was 
under  orders  not  to  stop  for  any  belated  passenger. 

"What's  your  errand?''  asked  the  skipper,  a  little  puz- 
zled, of  Aronson. 

"I  have  a  subpoena  from  the  court,"  cried  Aronson,  all 
agog. 

"Oh,  you're  a  court  officer.'' 

Then  he  rounded  his  hands  and  holloaed  up: 

"A  court  officer  aboard!" 

Court  officer!  This  made  an  impression.  The  third 
mate  withdrew  from  the  gunwale  and  presently  reap- 
peared with  the  captain. 

"Lash  her  to!"  cried  the  captain.  The  tug-boat  hugged 
her  great  sister  and  a  ladder  was  let  down,  upon  which 
Aronson  mounted.  With  the  white  paper  in  his  hand  he 
looked  decidedly  formidable. 

"I  have  a  subpoena  for  Mrs.  Alice  Arnold,  one  of  your 
passengers.  She  is  wanted  as  a  witness  in  a  murder  trial. 
There  she  is,"  he  added,  for  Mrs.  Arnold  stood  in  front  of 
the  crowd  that  had  rolled  like  a  barrel  of  ballast  toward 
the  center  of  interest.  The  captain  was  nonplused.  He 
was  not  familiar  enough  with  law  terms  to  know  the 
limits  of  a  subpoena's  authority.  But  he  felt  that  he  was 
to  some  extent  the  protector  of  his  passengers. 

"I  don't  understand  this,"  he  said,  turning  to  Mrs. 
Arnold. 

"It  is  a  great  annoyance  to  me  if  I  must  go  on  so 
trifling  a  matter,"  she  said.  She  was  pale  and  her  man- 
ner was  haughty.  To  Aronson  it  was  something  more. 


404  THE  INCENDIARY. 

It  bore  every  indication  of  conscious  guilt.  He  had  not 
foreseen  resistance.  The  document,  with  Shagarach's 
name  appended,  he  had  thought  would  open  caverns  and 
cause  walls  to  fall. 

"There  is  the  lady.  She  prefers  not  to  go.  I  presume 
you  will  have  to  compel  her.  But  I  don't  see  that  I  can 
permit  violence  on  board  my  ship." 

The  passengers  seemed  to  gloat  on  Saul  Aronson's  dis- 
comfiture, and  Shagarach's  faithful  courier  was  almost 
beside  himself.  In  the  distance  lay  the  city,  crowned  with 
its  gold  dome,  dwindling  from  sight.  The  lonely  ocean 
roared  around  him.  'Capt.  Perkins'  tiny  tug  still  hugged 
the  larboard  of  her  giant  sister. 

"It  appears  to  me  that  paper's  no  good,"  said  the 
second  mate  suddenly.  He  happened  to  be  a  little  of  a 
lawyer.  "Let's  have  a  look." 

Aronson  reluctantly  saw  the  summons  leave  his  hand. 

"Suffolk  county.  This  ain't  Suffolk  county,"  cried  the 
mate,  while  the  ring  of  passengers  laughed. 

"Shinny  on  your  own  side,  youngster/'  he  added,  re- 
turning the  paper. 

"But  it's  America,"  cried  Aronson. 

"Just  passed  the  three-mile  limit,''  said  the  captain. 
He  was  an  Englishman,  the  mate  was  an  Englishman. 
They  had  no  particular  love  for  anything  American,  ex- 
cept the  output  of  our  national  mints. 

"I'm  afraid  the  captain's  right,  young  man,"  said  a 
kind,  elderly  gentleman,  who  might  be  a  lawyer  recruit- 
ing his  health  by  an  ocean  trip  before  the  fall  term  opened. 
"You've  got  beyond  your  jurisdiction." 

Mrs.  Arnold  had  gone  below  and  the  hatless  invader 
reluctantly  abandoned  his  prize.  On  the  homeward  voy- 
age he  gave  way  to  exhaustion  and  fell  into  several  naps 
of  forty  winks'  duration,  during  the  last  of  which  a 
grotesque  dream  troubled  his  peace.  He  found  himself 
chasing  Serena  Lamb  around  an  enormous  bass  drum, 
as  big  as  the  Heidelberg  tun,  on  the  stretched  skin  of 
which  the  oaf,  the  manikin  and  the  pantaloon  were  danc- 
ing a  fandango.  Still  he  chased  Serena  and  still  she 


THE  INCENDIARY.  405 

escaped  him,  the  toes  of  the  dancers  pounding  a  heavy 
tattoo.  Faster  and  faster  pursuer  and  pursued  whirled 
around  the  side  of  the  drum,  till  Aronson's  head  swam 
like  a  kitten's  in  hot  pursuit  of  his  own  tail.  At  last  in  his 
despair  he  hurled  the  subpoena  at  Serena's  head. 

The  three  dancers  disappeared  with  a  bursting  sound 
into  the  hollow  of  the  drum,  and  he  awoke  to  find  the 
tugboat  just  bumping  its  side  against  the  dock.  The 
sea  had  smoothed  down  to  a  lack-luster  glaze,  but  it 
was  less  dreary  than  the  heart  of  the  baffled  pursuer. 

"We  may  as  well  cancel  that  little  debit  item  now,"  said 
Skipper  Perkins,  flinging  a  coil  of  rope  ashore. 

"At  any  cost,''  repeated  Aronson  sorely  to  himself.  He 
had  done  his  best,  but  Mrs.  Arnold  was  out  of  sight  of 
land — a  fugitive  from  justice. 


CHAPTER  LVIII. 

THE  MIRACLE. 

It  was  after  two  o'clock  when,  breathless,  spiritless,  and 
penniless,  Saul  Aronson  arrived  at  the  court-room  again. 
The  examination  of  Bertha  was  nearly  ended. 

"Will  you  take  these  spectacles,  Miss  Lund?"  said 
Shagarach,  handing  Bertha  a  pair.  They  looked  like  the 
"horns"  that  used  to  straddle  our  grandfathers'  noses, 
being  uncommonly  large,  circular  in  shape  and  fitted  with 
curved  wires  to  pass  over  the  ears. 

"Do  they  bear  any  resemblance  to  Prof.  Arnold's?" 

"I  thought  they  were  his  at  first." 

"Let  us  suppose  they  are.  Will  you  kindly  leave  the 
stand  and  adjust  them  on  this  desk  near  the  window  ex- 
actly as  the  professor's  spectacles  lay  on  his  desk  that 
afternoon?" 

Bertha  took  the  spectacles  without  hesitation,  walkec 
over  to  the  crier's  desk  and  placed  them  on  its  edge, 
with  their  wires  toward  the  window.  Then  she  laid 


406  THE  INCENDIARY. 

a  book  under  the  wires.  This  made  the  glasses  tip  a  little 
downward.  The  sun  was  shining  in  fiercely. 

"I  believe  there  was  a  waste  basket  in  the  study?"  con- 
tinued Shagarach. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Like  this  one?"  He  held  up  an  uncommonly  capa- 
cious basket,  over  two  feet  high. 

"The  very  same  kind." 

"And  as  full  as  this  is?" 

"Fuller.    It  was  just  bursting  with  papers." 

"What  kind  of  paper?'' 

"Black  wrapping  paper  that  comes  off  the  professor's 
books." 

"Something  like  this?" 

"Just  like  that." 

The  paper  in  Shagarach's  wicker  basket  was  not  black, 
exactly,  but  of  a  deep  shade  which  could  hardly  be  de- 
scribed by  the  name  of  any  known  color. 

"Why  are  you  wearing  a  white  dress,  Miss  Lund?" 

Bertha  blushed  a  little. 

"Because  light  colors  are  cooler.'' 

"Coolness  is  a  strong  recommendation  on  a  day  like 
this.  Do  you  remember  whether  the  Saturday  of  the  fire 
was  as  warm?" 

"It  was  very  hot,  I  know." 

"The  hottest  day  of  a  hot  June,  was  it  not?" 

"Well,  I  couldn't  answer  that.  The  thermometer  goes 
up  and  down  like  a  jumping-jack  here.'' 

"You  had  pulled  up  the  study  curtains  so  as  to  let  in 
the  sunlight,  I  believe?" 

"Yes,  sir.  That  was  for  the  poor  canary.  And,  be- 
sides, the  professor  used  to  say  the  sunlight  was  good — 
good  for  plants  and  animals  and  everything  that  has  life 
in  it." 

"The  sun,  then,  was  shining  down  on  the  desk  where 
the  spectacles  lay?" 

"Just  as  you  see  it  here,  sir." 

She  pointed  to  the  desk,  by  which  she  was  still  stand- 
ing. 


THE  INCENDIARY.  407 

"You  know,  from  your  own  experience  in  dresses,  that 
dark  colors  absorb  more  heat  than  light  ones?" 

"Light  dresses  are  cooler  than  dark  ones?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Brown  paper  burns  more  quickly  than  white?" 

"Oh,  yes.  You  can  kindle  a  fire  with  brown  paper 
better." 

"Will  you  take  the  waste-basket  and  place  it  on  the 
floor  just  as  far  from  those  spectacles  as  the  waste-basket 
in  the  study  stood,  and  in  the  same  direction." 

Bertha  measured  off  a  short  distance  with  her  eye, 
picked  up  the  basket,  shifted  it  once  or  twice,  and  finally 
set  it  down  with  a  satisfied  air. 

"There!" 

"It  stood  just  behind  the  desk,  then?" 

"What  is  the  drift  of  all  this?"  interrupted  the  district 
attorney,  his  deep  voice  falling  on  a  breathless  silence. 
A  presentiment  had  spread  from  one  to  another  that  the 
solution  was  at  hand. 

"We  are  reproducing  the  exact  condition  of  the  study 
at  the  time  the  fire  occurred.  These  spectacles,  contain- 
ing powerful  cataract  lenses,  are  made  from  the  same 
prescription  as  Prof.  Arnold's,  by  his  optician,  Mr.  Dean. 
The  large  basket,  a  mild  eccentricity  of  the  professor's, 
and  the  black  paper,  are  also  duplicates.'' 

"What  do  you  hope  to  prove?"  asked  Chief  Justice 
Playfair.  His  answer  was  a  shrill  cry,  like  a  bird  note, 
from  Emily,  who  had  never  withdrawn  her  eye  from  the 
waste  basket. 

"It's  catching!" 

Every  eye  in  the  court-room  turned.  Those  who  sat 
near  enough  beheld  two  tiny  holes,  like  worm  holes,  sud- 
denly pierced  in  the  black  paper,  where  the  rays  of  light 
converged  through  the  tilted  lenses.  Each  had  a  crisp, 
brown  margin  around  it.  Gradually  they  widened  and 
spread,  as  though  instinct  with  life,  one  working  faster 
than  the  other.  Then  suddenly  a  little  circle  of  flame 
curled  out,  and  before  the  onlookers  realized  the  miracle 


408  THE  INCENDIARY. 

in  progress,  the  waste  basket  was  throwing  up  red 
tongues  of  fire  and  sighing  softly.  If  it  were  not  for 
Sire's  furious  barking  the  railing  of  the  bar  might  have 
caught.  As  it  was,  its  varnish  had  begun  to  crackle  be- 
fore the  nearest  court  officer  recovered  his  presence  of 
mind  and  threw  the  blazing  basket  out  of  the  window. 

Gazing  at  Shagarach  the  spectators  waited  breathless- 
ly for  an  elucidation.  Before  speaking  he  walked  over 
and  shook  hands  warmly  with  Emily.  When  he  turned 
at  last,  his  words  came  forth  like  a  whirlwind. 

"I  think  nothing  more  is  needed  to  convince  us  of  the 
source  from  which  this  fire  originated.  We  have  repro- 
duced every  circumstance  of  its  occurrence  in  order  to 
provide  you  with  ocular  demonstration.  The  sun  supply- 
ing extraordinary  heat,  the  burning  glass  duplicated  by  an 
expert  and  placed  in  position  by  a  trustworthy  witness, 
the  focal  distance  estimated  by  her,  the  highly  combusti- 
ble fuel,  identical  in  color  and  substance — can  you  not 
turn  back  in  imagination  and  see  happening  in  that  de- 
serted study  all  that  has  happened  here?  Can  you  not 
follow  it  on  to  the  destruction  of  the  mantel  fringe  just 
above,  the  awaking  of  the  sleepy  dog,  the  mad  leap  of 
the  flames  from  wall  to  wall,  and  at  last  that  whole  irre- 
sistible carnival  of  the  elements?  It  was  no  human  torch, 
but  the  hot  gaze  of  the  sun,  condensed  through  these 
powerful  lenses,  which  lit  that  funeral  pyre  and  dug 
graves  for  seven  human  beings.  Fate,  working  out  its 
processes  in  that  lonely  room,  was  the  mysterious  in- 
cendiary toward  whom  we  have  all  been  blindly  grop- 
ing." 

As  Shagarach  pointed  upward  in  his  awful  close,  the 
audience,  on  the  very  brink  of  an  outburst,  held  back 
their  enthusiasm  for  an  instant.  But  the  chief  justice  was 
seen  to  bow  his  head,  and  at  once  the  excitement  broke 
all  barriers.  A  loud  spontaneous  cheer,  rendered  half 
articulate  by  cries  of  "Shagarach,  Shagarach!"  scattered 
to  the  winds  the  customary  restraints  of  the  surroundings. 
Women  embraced  each  other;  strangers  shook  hands 
warmly;  Emily  Barlow  rushed  over  and  hugged  Rosalie 


THE  INCENDIARY.  40» 

March,  and  drops  were  glistening  on  Chief  Justice  Play- 
fair's  eyelashes  when  he  lifted  his  head.  McCausland, 
standing  agape  on  the  threshold  of  his  ante-room,  com- 
pleted the  happy  picture. 

By  a  natural  reaction  the  outburst  was  succeeded  by  a 
spell  of  tense  repression,  amid  which  the  district  attorney 
rose  and  moved  the  withdrawal  of  the  case  against  Robert 
Floyd.  The  foreman  of  the  jury  announced  that  he  and 
his  associates  had  long  been  agreed  upon  the  innocence 
of  the  accused,  and  Chief  Justice  Playfair,  dignified  as  an 
archbishop  blessing  his  flock,  expressed  in  his  golden 
idiom  the  common  feeling  of  thankfulness  that  the  trial 
had  so  felicitous  a  termination. 

And  so  the  logic  of  Richard  McCausland  and  the 
psychology  of  Meyer  Shagarach  were  both  overmatched 
by  the  intuitions  of  a  loyal  girl — a  girl  who  knew  some- 
thing about  lenses  because  she  dealt  with  cameras,  and 
who  brought  to  the  problem  a  concentration  of  thought 
as  powerful  as  that  of  the  sunlight  on  the  professor's 
spectacles.  Both  the  lawyer  and  the  detective  came  for- 
ward promptly  to  pay  her  their  homage;  and  the  last 
she  saw  of  McCausland  he  was  focusing  one  of  the  lenses 
on  the  end  of  his  cigar,  readily  obtaining  the  desired  red 
light. 

But  Emily  was  not  holding  court  even  for  them  while 
there  was  still  a  stroke  of  work  to  be  done.  Her  second 
thought  was  of  Harry  in  his  cell.  With  admirable 
modesty  avoiding  Robert's  kiss,  she  took  him  and  Rosalie 
by  the  hand  and  made  them  friends  at  once.  Then,  leav- 
ing Beulah  Ware  to  chat  with  Brother  Tristram,  the  trio 
sped  over  to  the  jail.  At  the  court-house  door  they  met 
Dr.  Silsby,  who  came  flying  along,  florid  and  out  of 
breath,  mopping  his  face  with  a  napkin  which  he  had 
probably  mistaken  in  his  hurry  for  a  handkerchief. 

"Is  it  over?"  he  cried. 

"Over?  We're  acquitted,"  cried  Emily,  using  a  reck- 
less plural.  "What  makes  you  so  late?" 

"Stopped  to  nib  a  quill  after  lunch,"  grumbled  the  di- 


410  THE  INCENDIARY. 

rector  of  the  Arnold  Academic,  as  he  gave  Robert  a 
pump-handle  squeeze. 

It  was  a  changed  Harry  that  stepped  out  of  the  cell 
in  murderers'  row.  In  the  confidence  of  the  preceding 
night  the  two  cousins  had  grown  closer  together  than 
ever  before.  After  all,  as  Harry  had  said  on  the  stand, 
they  were  both  Arnolds  and  the  sole  survivors  of  that  ec- 
centric blood. 

But  a  stronger  bond  was  soon  to  rivet  them  together 
in  the  waxing  amity  of  the  two  girls,  one  of  whom  was 
dearer  than  kin  to  each  of  the  cousins.  Rosalie's  exclu- 
siveness  and  the  wealth  she  continued  to  enjoy  with  an 
equanimity  he  could  not  understand  at  first  prevented 
Robert  from  doing  full  justice  to  her.  But  on  acquaint- 
ance she  proved  as  merry  (among  her  chosen  few)  as  any 
lassie,  and  a  certain  child-like  innocence,  all  the  more 
singular  from  her  association  with  the  stage,  made  a 
charming  foil  to  the  ripe  womanly  beauty  of  her  person. 

Moreover,  as  the  months  roll  by,  and  Robert  learns 
more  and  more  what  men  and  women  really  are,  he 
lowers  his  standards  gradually  as  to  what  may  be  ex- 
pected of  them.  Not  that  he  has  given  up  his  ideals.  Far 
from  it!  He  is  still  a  socialist;  and,  what  is  better,  a 
sower  of  good  seed  in  action,  placing  goodly  portions  of 
his  income  here  and  there,  with  something  of  his  uncle's 
bow-wow  manner,  to  be  sure,  as  though  it  were  no  per- 
sonal pity  tugging  at  his  heart-strings,  but  only  an  ab- 
stract desire  to  see  things  ship-shape  in  the  world,  an 
impatience  at  disorder.  But  this  affected  matter-of-fact- 
ness  doesn't  suffice  to  shake  off  the  blessings  of  his 
pensioners. 

If  he  chooses  to  set  all  orthodoxy  by  the  ears  with  that 
series  of  fire-brand  polemics  which,  as  readers  remember, 
succeeded  the  "Modest  Proposal  for  a  Consumers' 
Trust,''  so  that  one  old  granny  among  his  opponents  has 
already  christened  him  "the  Legicide,"  what  do  Mrs.  Lacy 
and  Mrs.  Riley  know  or  care?  I  fancy  most  of  us,  if  we 
were  burdened  with  a  maniac  son  or  blessed  with  the 


THE  INCENDIARY.  411 

love  of  a  dutiful  boy  like  Walter,  would  accept  assistance 
for  their  sakes,  and  ask  no  questions  of  the  giver. 

Mrs.  Arnold  is  too  old  now  ever  to  forget  that  her 
maiden  name  was  Alice  Brewster.  It  was  the  fear  of 
staining  that  name  with  the  published  details  of  a  petty 
intrigue  that  caused  her  to  sail  for  Europe  so  suddenly. 
For  it  was  she,  conscious  of  her  own  financial  straits,  and 
anxious  for  Harry  if  his  inheritance  should  be  cut  off,  who 
had  conducted  the  correspondence  with  Ellen  Greeley. 
In  this  there  was  nothing  criminal ;  but  much  to  wound 
her  pride.  So  she  had  fled  from  the  ordeal  of  testifying 
before  Shagarach,  and  the  disclosures  which  she  foresaw 
were  inevitable. 

Her  embarrassments  have  since  been  tided  over  and 
the  family  fortune  saved,  at  least  from  total  shipwreck. 
The  match  with  Rosalie  March  guarantees  to  Harry  the 
gratification  of  all  his  tastes;  and,  as  the  young  couple 
are  coming  to  Woodlawn  to  live,  the  sting  of  separation 
is  softened.  Ah,  the  fond  jealous  mothers  who  must 
forget  their  ov/n  honeymoons  to  chide  the  child  that  only 
obeys  divine  injunctions  in  cleaving  to  another  when  the 
time  is  ripe! 

Of  Emily  Barlow  what  more  can  be  said?  Praise  is 
superfluous;  intrusion  on  her  betrothal  joys,  soon  to 
merge  into  marriage  happiness,  deeper  if  less  unmixed 
with  care,  an  impertinence. 

Of  late  the  whole  world  seems  conspiring  to  bless  her. 
Only  the  other  day  Tristram  March  won  the  sculpture 
prize  at  the  academy  with  his  life-size  group  "Driftwood 
Pickers  at  the  Sea  Level."  The  critics  have  gone  mad 
over  the  boldness  of  his  conception — one  figure  erect  and 
peering  far  off,  two  stooping  and  adding  to  their  fagot 
bundles.  The  whole  ocean  is  there  in  that  fretted  line  of 
surf— a  bare  suggestion.  One  interpreter  has  gone  so 
far  as  to  see  in  the  figures  a  type  of  humanity  itself,  on 
the  margin  of  some  mysterious  beneficent  element  which 
surrounds  it.  But  the  salient  fact  to  Emily  is  that  Tris- 
tram won  the  prize,  and  is  striving  might  and  mam  for 
another  more  precious— the  hand  of  the  dark,  collected 


412  THE  INCENDIARY. 

girl  who  gave  him  both  subject  and  inspiration  during 
their  memorable  week  at  Digby. 

And  Shagarach — the  iron  will,  the  giant  mind — what 
is  his  destiny?  To  be  always  a  criminal  lawyer,  a  con- 
sorter  with  publicans  and  sinners?  Always,  we  may  be 
sure,  to  protect  the  innocent,  to  whatever  sphere  the 
buoyancy  of  his  genius  may  lift  him;  and  whether  he 
wear  ultimately  the  ermine  or  the  laurel  wreath  he  will 
never  forget  one  cause,  which  brought  him,  with  much 
added  celebrity  and  some  unhappiness,  the  friendship  of 
three  couples  so  rare  and  fine — that  great  search  for  the 
Incendiary  which  is  registered  (not  without  pique)  in 
Inspector  McCausland's  private  docket  as  "The  Eye- 
Glass  Fiasco." 


THE  END. 


._••    • 


0000672 


